The scene takes us to the planet Queen of the Core itself: Coruscant. With it’s very lively streets overflowing with life from the most diverse species of intelligent life. With the occasional automatons hovering out and about over the heads of the pedestrians. Neon signs of countless different colors were a constant, prettying up the business establishments in a blatant yet highly aggressive attempt to draw customers into themselves. Noise pollution was very high with the sounds of machinery and social gibberish like small talk, laughs, grunts, cussing, people stressed out with the traffic…

The masses came and went, carrying on with their relatively peaceful lives in one place or another, retreating into buildings or just coming out of them through front doors virtually all the time. It was hard to pick a particular someone out of the roaming civilians, unless they had some sort of remarkable trait.

And on the middle of the crowd, inconspicuously striding along almost as if carrying herself along with the walking centipede of masses, wearing a large and baggy looking plain grey-ish colored hooded robe that covered nearly all of body all the way down into the bottom half of their shins, was the female Jedi trainee miraluka known as Shoma Jidith. The hood she wore poured it’s fabric down over her forehead and overshadowed what were supposed to be her eyes completely. Eye sockets covered both in the shadow of her hood and underneath plain white bandages she wore over them.

Even though she walked in inconspicuous fashion, Shoma still attracted some side glances from the people she passed by. She was largely dismissed by the people. Some of them were perverts from the opposite sex considering a tap to get a feel for that package, others thought she was some kind of homeless trash roaming about, other people just as dirty minded as the former, if not moreso, thought she was a prostitute on her way to provide services to some loser who must pay to have sexual intercourse. Most just flat out ignored.

But Shoma could care less about what people thought of her. Her inner self was overflowing with determination and confidence. After all, it was no mere mundane reason like a job or entertainment that brought her into this place. It was… Destiny calling. That is what Shoma would describe it as, plain and simple. The arrival of a certain person around these parts had affected her somehow. And the miraluka was drawn into that presence’s imponent force. The woman’s intuition brought her so far, and even if it was completely wrong for some reason, it was simply too late to back down now.

A few dozen more minutes elapsed as the girl walked around the streets. Until, she stopped. Raised her non-existent eyes towards the glorious looking place she had come all the way for, the magnificent force she could see hailed from this place. Her lips widened in a smile. Finally, she had arrived. Could not wait to see and live whatever awaited her there.

But perhaps defying her expectations, all she could see was… A bunch of religious looking people? And they all were singing praises in the direction of the castle? Shoma was utterly surprised by this: It had caught her completely off guard. Her force sight surveyed over the small mass venerating whatever was in there. Her mind completely drew a blank about what to do. Should she sing praises too? Pray? But how? What should she recite? She had no answers to any of these questions.

She was at a loss for actions and words before this rather peculiar scene, but had come too far to give up now. Perhaps trying to show respect towards whoever or whatever lived there, Shoma slowly brought herself down into her knees, leaving her head hanging down, facing the floor. Even though she had yet to learn what prayers to offer.

‘I can feel it! I must be on the correct path!’

@Thunder Falcon



The Persistent vagrant.

"That one, the limbless cripple" A voice, imperious, yet lyrical echoed through the curtained windows of one of the balconies rising out of the old Presidential palace. Purple eyes that might have belonged to a serpent, peered out to the crowd gathered outside the immense steps leading to the grand doors. People bowed in supplication, others stood in quiet observation, more yet gazed with wavering uncertainty, those interested her the most. The ones who came as skeptics, or as enemies only to throw down their metaphorical arms and begin to listen to the gospels she'd preach. It would have been a lot harder, she thought had The Empire not torn itself apart, hard warlordism and decay not gripped the cosmos and had the resurgent New Republic movement not stood on the metaphorical throat of a core where the social divide split along lines that made her at once a unifying force and a threat of incredible instability. -The elite in the core favor the empire. Not much changed for them, they merely wore new uniforms or had to learn to bribe the loudest humanocentirst fools. The middle class is pro Republic, violently so- She thought, which was dangerous because Coruscant, Alsakan and Chandrilla boasted the largest middle classes in the galaxy. But the poor? The poor were an interest mix, at once reviling the abuses heaped upon them by Corsec and the regular army and yet Imperial public works projects, from ship building to founding new cities. All a grand scheme to keep the masses employed and sated and with the Empire in ruins, the New Republic moving in? People needed something to hold onto, but that lifeline manifested its own dangers and risks. Navigating the energies of a holy war in the making was going to be a task greater than anything she'd ever done before and the festering problems her machinations all those centuries ago exacerbated and created had been simmering to near boiling point for far longer than she'd intended. It was why she had to be selective, more so than she would ordinarily be (and she was above and beyond rigid in her criteria). In the days since the departure of Highsinger, the Apprentice and the Mule she watched as the crowds gathered, she watched as force sensitives new to their talen. Stumbling like infants walked up to her hallowed steps and begged, pushed against the soldiers only to be thrust back.

Most were discouraged within the first hour.

She didn't need them, that Miralukan amateur Jerec could have them.

Some endured hours, to a day.

The abomination on Yavin could have those weaklings.

"It's her second day mistress" The Twi'lik slave, one of the two of them anyway, she couldn't remember which not that she cared too. slaves were for utility, not for speaking or recognition. The bold few who did manage to become more than they were, she might decide to honor with acknowledgement, maybe. "shall I have the army throw her out?" "No" the serpent said, her awareness reaching out through the masses of agitants and wrapping around the crippled supplicant, ribbons of awareness enmeshing the Miralukans being in the force. Serpentine perceptiveness delved into the borders of her psyche, dancing on the edge but stopping out right from a mind probe. She was powerful, her inner forge could handle enormous amounts of the force. Purple eyes flickered, glowing in the morning sun, remaining obscured the snake turned holy warrior took the full measure of the cripples potential and walked away, leaving the window and the gentle brush against her awareness only to grab a com device and order a storm. "Let us see, if she is more than she appears, or if she is just another cripple ambling about the Galaxy wasting oxygen by existing" Arkanians had sympathy for those disabled in battle or in the glorious pursuit of research but for those born defective? Better they had never been born at all, her two and a half centuries of life spent in war had taught her the value of not underestimating even the most base and defective. Still, for the accident of her birth, this one would have to do more than be powerful in the force.

And so, Pontifex Invictus Miryia of house Janus ordered a severe rainstorm, which lasted well into the night.

On the third day, Invictus Janus observed from the balcony openly, gazing down with cold, assessing eyes brimming with certitude at the one with no arms. She endured the rain, refusing to budge from her position at the foot of her stairs. So, the miter adorned Arkanian cobra ordered the storm to become harsher, for winds and lightning to rise. By nightfall on the third day, the Serpent returned to the balcony, defying the rain as it fell around her, she regarded the Miralukan with the same cold, confident eyes. Eyes that judged her, eyes that in a lesser being might have said that it didn't matter what you were inside, only what you were on the outside. And a worthless cripple she would always be. But beyond the judgment, these eyes said something else "prove me wrong. Show me how wrong I am". That night, nine souls stood beside the limbless one in the rain, called by her dedication and her perseverance, motivated by curiosity, driven by a desire to see what the blind woman saw. Perhaps they too hoped they would be chosen or arrive to whatever sublime epiphany they mistakenly believed the female was chasing. Of the nine four departed before the dawn and another three before breakfast, winds howled on the fourth day and the two who remained were joined by twenty, who refused to budge and endured.

Some possessed force potential, they would be chosen as well but for a different duty. They were not yet ready for training, but Miryia Farlina of House Janus had seen enough. In the morning of the fifth day the Coruscanti weather control offices were contacted and ordered to disperse the storm. The great Doors opened and flanked by members of the five hundred and first the Jedi turned prelate descended the steps towards the girl and her circle of adherents. Adorned in armor, her purple cloak flowing in the wind which began to scatter the storm, her bone white hair weaving in the billowing purple fabric, she came with her lightsaber as well, adorned as if greeting the dawn before a battle.

Sher locked eyes with the woman's blindfolded empty sockets. a hand reached down and threaded its index and middle finger through soaking wet hair. "You" she spoke, her voice lyrical yet commanding. "there is no greater enemy than our own limitations, they are cruel, unrelenting, punishing barriers that when broken leave one as confused as they were before dejected. You understand this" There was no room for doubt in that voice and she made the assessment as if she were stating a fact so obvious and widely accepted that it was redundant to even state it. "you broke your barriers, congratulations Miralukan, you are more than a crippled freak and with your newfound freedom comes blindness"

She let the woman's hair go brushing her fingertips along Shomas' cheek before turning her way up the stairs only to pause. "Would you like to see again?" A slow smile crept across the woman's features, a reward she gave few and the offer even fewer still. "I can show you how...Apprentice"

The others moved to ascend the stairs, a subtle inclination of her head and the forced roared about her and the others were hurled back. "Not you, you will start below with the servants, if you wish to be more than a mere beast of the field next time do not follow, lead as this child has" The woman turned and began her ascent as the crowds cheered the new apprentice. "Come, Shoma Jidith. The last time you bent your knees you were an exploited, discarded freak. Rise a woman and follow me inside"

Destiny was not meant for the weak.

The glorious future was not meant for broken things...Save for those who found the strength to forge themselves anew.

---

Zaid's estate had been built in the forests near the planet's capital of Drev'Starn. It was a compound composed of several buildings with a central house in the middle. A space port sat at very edge of the compound within the walls, with a squad of about eight X-Wings. Defending the compound were two heavy turbolaser towers positioned to the sides of the main house.

The moment elements of Rogue Squadron and Gold Squadron approached the compound, all the ships were contacted by a voice over their radios,

"You are entering restricted airspace. State your intentions or be fired upon." The voice sounded robotic and monotone. Probably belonging to one of those IG-series assassin droids.

“We’re closing in on the coordinates,” Nareia announced, putting an end to all immediate chatter on comms. She could make out several buildings enclosed behind large walls, and as they drew closer noticed two turbolaser towers beside the central building. “Our contact isn’t defenseless. Shields up, just in case this goes south.”

Rogue Group doublechecked that their shields were set to full and adjusted course behind Nareia, who veered several feet higher before beginning to encircle the compound. Tilting their ships just enough to keep it in sight at all times, they each started to examine the compound thoroughly. Not a moment later, Nareia’s eyes found familiar ships resting on a landing pad, far from the rest of the buildings.

“Anyone else see that, on the landing pad?” Rayce asked, blinking to make certain his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “He’s got X-wings. Why?”

“I think you mean how,” Kyrin corrected, contemplating opening his S-foils. “Either he stole them, or there’s an entire unit of New Republic Pilots down there that we don’t know about. I don’t like either of those answers.”

“What if he purchased them directly from Incom?” Alara meekly chose to ask, trying to find the less accusatory answer to all this. “We shouldn’t just jump to—”

In the middle of Alara’s sentence, a monotone voice—robotic, Alara could tell more than anyone—opened a line with each of them, demanding they state their business. Each of them maintained visual scanning of the compound; the rotation of those turbolasers and any movement on the landing pad were watched closely. As acting Squadron Leader, Nareia responded to the transmission for the rest of them.

“This is New Republic pilot Nareia Norre requesting to speak to a “Vaid Vas’ah”. We’ve obtained information we can’t retrieve alone, and we’ve been informed by our superiors that there is no one better to crack the ciphers on this item.” A mixture of authority in her tone and flattery in her plea, she hoped her explanation was sincere enough to at least get her a chance to speak to the man himself.

“Forgive our sudden intrusion into your airspace, but this mission was time sensitive. My escort is with me only as a precaution against any unwanted aggressors.”

“Scan the ships. Look for callsigns, and how long their systems have been idle,” Alara whispered to Zee, who chirped twice in response. While Nareia handled the communications personally, Zee would check the status of those X-wings settled below them. If they did belong to any New Republic pilots before, she wanted to know.

"He is expecting you. Only three of you may land. The rest, you must leave our airspace." The monotone voice replied before cutting comms completely. That was a droid with a short temper.

Zee discovered that the X-Wings had just recently landed. What little they could access suggested that someone had either bought the ships brand new from the company or had somehow installed new software into New Republic computers. Either way, those X-Wings were probably not New Republic and were likely there as part of this... Vas'ah guy's security detail. Considering how much external security there was, this guy was either paranoid or very important.

When the comm channel between the compound and herself closed, Nareia swore under her breath. Vaid never answered; pompousness and paranoia weren’t qualities that attracted her whether they be from allies or enemies. Wedge wasn’t happy to point out that this was the only man that came to mind when it came to cracking the data chip. Her hands were tied, and she would have to comply with those rules.

“Why just three?” Kyrin was the first to speak again in their comm channel. “Interesting number.”

“If he asked me to come alone, I’d be less willing to do it. Maybe he knew,” Nareia suggested. “Or maybe he didn’t. That landing pad looks like it can hold just a few more ships, but not all of us.”

“Zee scanned those X-wings,” Alara quickly cut in. “They haven’t been down there long. Nothing ties their systems to the New Republic; there’s no callsign data or coordinates related to any New Republic territories. It could just be coincidence—the X-wing is a fantastic ship; I can’t blame someone for wanting one.”

“Could be system wiped,” Kyrin muttered. “Don’t know if this guy is legit or not. Did Wedge know?”

“If he knew, he would’ve told me.”

“But he was also in a hurry,” Rayce added. “This wasn’t a formal briefing and even minor details are something Wedge would gloss over to save time. If he knew about the X-wings, I don’t see why he wouldn’t warn us. Seems important.”

“Knowing Vaid and meeting Vaid are two different things. Besides, we’re burning time and that makes us look suspicious. I’d rather give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he’s hiding behind a lot of defenses. His house, his rules.” Nareia took another look at the landing pad; those X-wings were becoming a source of paranoia for not only the others, but herself as well. “Gold Leader,” she said loud and clear. “That droid said three could land; I’m tempted to take Rayce and Kyrin with me, but if the worst should happen, I don’t want you alone with only one X-wing to back you up.”

She broke off from her encirclement; the rest of the ships followed, listening intently.

“I’m going to land on my own—Zee will ping my R2 unit every other minute to check in and make sure it isn’t vaporized. If I don’t contact you within twenty minutes, you’ll know something is off.”

“You can’t be serious! You know this guy is shady,” Kyrin argued. “At least let Rayce go with you. Security guard might come in handy down there. Or, yours truly.”

“No, I’m already overthinking this as is. If something goes wrong, the better pilots should stay safe. Keep an eye on Gold Squadron and hope we can all laugh about how paranoid we’ve gotten an hour from now.” With that, Nareia’s X-wing broke off from the group and turned back towards the compound as the others exited its airspace and headed for the nearby capital city's spaceport.

“Nareia—” Rayce started.

“Get going. I’ll get back in touch when I can. Nareia out.” The comm channel fell silent after that; it was for the best, she thought.

She cruised alone to the compound and started her landing sequence; her engine power slowly died, and her landing gear lowered once she found enough space to set down. The power to her shields was the last system with power before it, too, was cut. Taking a deep breath, she removed her helmet and opened the canopy.

“Keep talking to Zee,” she told her R2 unit, reaching into a compartment on her right side and retrieving a blaster as she set the helmet on her empty seat. She doubted they would let her keep it, but maybe by coming alone they would feel less intimidated, allowing her to hold on to it for her own comfort. It was worth a try. “If you see the ships taking off, warn the others.”

Descending the retractable ladder down her ship’s side, she patted her left thigh and felt the shape of the data chip safely tucked inside it before making towards the landing pad’s exit ramp. She expected some sort of escort.

Nareia walked across the barren front yard of the home. To her left was the landing pad full of X-Wings and to her right was one of the massive turbolaser towers. Standing next to it was a Zabrak who was fixing something on one of the tower's control panels. This guy was bluffing. Those towers were probably not even functional. As she passed by, the Zabrak mechanic shot a glare in her direction before closing the panel and going on his way to a nearby storage shed. The house before her had two floors and was filled with antennas and a satellite dish at the very top, ruining the otherwise beautiful mansion. There were also a pair of speeder bikes parked near the main entrance.

When she approached the door, it immediately opened before she could even think of knocking. Standing in front of her was an IG-series assassin droid, painted in different shades of purple.

"You must be the New Republic contact." Said the droid, in a familiar monotone voice. This was the same droid who had 'greeted' them earlier. "Before you go any further..." The droid pointed at her holstered pistol. "Your weapon. Hand it over."

“Of course,” Nareia replied with a forced smile, slowly reaching to her hip and retrieving the blaster. She flipped it upside down before handing it to the droid. “I’ll want that back before I go.”

Taking the pistol, the droid tossed it in a container right by the door drame.

"Follow me and don't wander off."

The IG-series droid led the New Republic pilot through the colossal house, passing through an entry hall and then an interior courtyard. Nareia saw multiple expensive pieces of art like busts, tapestries, and paintings. The interior courtyard had a beautiful garden which surrounded a large statue of a Bothan right in the middle. The IG droid led Nareia into a room to the right side of the statue. Opening a set of double doors, she followed the IG droid into a lounge.

The lounge barely fit the more posh exterior. It reeked of smoke and alcohol and the dimmed lighting made it look like some back alley death stick dealer's den. The droid walked over to a Bothan who was sitting in a circular sofa right in the middle of the room. From the looks of it, this was Zaid Vas'ah, the guy she was supposed to meet. He was surrounded by males of several species. The Bothan's fun time with his 'escorts' was suddenly interrupted by the IG-series droid who leaned in and gestured toward Nareia. Rolling his eyes, Zaid, who was wearing a intricately decorated purpoe bathrobe stood up and walked over to Nareia with a Quarren wrapped around one arm and a Shistavanen on the other.

"So, you're Wedge's contact." Said the Bothan, drawing a chuckle from his Shistavanen escort. "You don't look like much, girl. I hope whatever you brought is worth my time."

Zaid barely made eye contact with the Rebel pilot. He considered her to be beneath him. The pilot was merely a middle man.

No response. Wonderful start.

Between the cheerful disposition of that Zabrak performing maintenance on the turbolaser towers outside and a security droid careless for her belongings, Nareia’s loathing of the mission understandably increased. Her forced smile tightened once the DL-44 was carelessly tossed into the container, but her composure was kept. It wasn’t built for hospitality, and neither were the people she presumed worked for Vaid. With a welcome this warm, she couldn’t fathom what it would be like to deal with the Bothan himself.

Following behind the IG droid, she gave his collection of art a good look; the garden in the courtyard was gorgeous, and the statue of the Bothan were beautiful pieces of work both. If she in a better mood—and her company conversational—she might’ve asked a question about the works they passed. Vaid obviously possessed a great amount of wealth; the art across his home was quality regardless of her personal feelings on their designs. She didn’t need to be Alara to tell that great care went into them.

As she wondered what the other homes in the compound possessed, the IG led her into another room. The sharp stench of strong alcohol and airborne narcotics made her nose wrinkle and her eyebrows furrow. Her eyes narrowed to adjust in the dimmed lighting, several men towards the center of the room catching her eye. Guests? No… upon a closer look, they appeared to be “entertainment”—not the kind she enjoyed, but clearly Vaid’s tastes were quite unlike her own.

She eyed the only Bothan in the room who was seated in the circular sofa, and upon catching sight of his eyes rolling once he noticed her, that tight smile of hers made a reappearance. The feeling was mutual.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the data chip and held it in her left fist as the host approached, backed by two men who—of course—had to come along. He dressed finely, but a well-tailored robe didn’t mask his terrible attitude. The insinuation he made about her not measuring up to his unimportant standards would be dismissed. The mission wasn’t to impress him, and she certainly wasn’t about to waste time trying.

At his mention of Wedge, her eyes narrowed hard into his own. “I didn’t think Wedge would let you know we were coming,” she admitted freely. That explained how he was expecting them. “Anyway…” she raised her hand and opened her fist, the data chip resting on her palm. “I imagine he already explained to you how time-sensitive this is, and arranged fair payment for aiding the New Republic? Because we don’t have a lot of time, and I’m sure you’d love to get back to… them.”

Nareia gestured to the Quarren and the Shistavanen with two nods. “I heard you were good,” she continued, bolstering his inflated ego. “I’m looking forward to seeing how fast you access this.”

"Thank you, girl. I do appreciate when people recognize my genius." He said, giving Nareia a smile and a wink. The Bothan then handed the chip over to the Quarren who took it over to a console at the other end of the room. Zaid followed closely behind his escort who inserted the chip inside a slot in the middle of the computer. The Bothan then stepped forward and started typing in a few codes and finished once the console made a loud beeping sound.

"I'm the best cipher specialist in the known Galaxy. Did you know that? People come to me from all over just so I can break ciphers from both the Empire and your little group of hoodlums and hopefuls. I work for your people more often just because you guys pay me much, much better."

The Bothan paused for a moment, taking a good look at the human woman. She wasn't really his type, but he knew a few who would appreciate her. "Say, girl. I know a few people who would pay good money to have your at their side. I hear the New Republic these days is pretty stagnant. May I suggest a career change? It pays well."

Surprisingly, Zaid gave the chip to the Quarren soon after receiving it. As he turned, so did Zaid; and as Zaid moved to follow the Quarren, she was right beside him. It appeared the Quarren’s only task was to insert the chip into a nearby computer. From there, Zaid took over. She was just about to keep a close eye on where his fingers darted to in the hopes that she might learn a thing or two, but the process seemed to be completed in mere seconds. A loud beep emitted from the computer console, then nothing.

Looking from the computer to Zaid, Nareia’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she said with genuine surprise, nodding in respect. “Wedge sent me to the right guy for the job.”

He chose to speak a little more rather than conclude the business there, talking of cracking both Imperial and New Republic ciphers before. She almost insisted he turn down the Imperials outright, but she was no diplomat. Convincing Zaid to make his skills exclusive to the cause she fought for would need to be the job of someone far more charismatic than herself. A Jedi might fare better, she’d make a note of it.

After a pause, he looked her over with interest he did not have a minute ago. “What?” she asked. He spoke of turning her skills over to the highest bidder instead, to which she smiled; not forced, not sardonic, but genuine. “Sorry, these skills aren’t for sale. You don’t even know what I’m capable of, unless you and Wedge spoke about more than just the chip.”

Now it was her turn to be flattered. It was a fleeting joy before the seriousness of the situation settled right back in. His comments about the New Republic couldn’t be left unchecked.

“The New Republic has hit a few walls but we’re going to survive this,” she said with certainty. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of any pilots looking to get hired in Drev’starn by chance? We could use fresh blood considering recent events.”

She wasn’t talking about Endor, although Zaid could assume as much. Zsinj’s Super Star Destroyer came to mind more than once on the trip to Bothawui.

Zaid couldn't help but to laugh. So naive. It was almost... cute. He didn't elaborate much further on it and turned back to the console to finish the decryption.

"Interesting." The Bothan remarked, as he put up the chip's contents on the display screen. "Looks like a mission briefing." Going over the contents, Zaid laughed again. "Your New Republic friends are messing with forces they barely understand. They were trying to crack open a Sith Holocron. Hah!"

As soon as the screen showed the contents, Nareia saw movement out of the corner of her eye. The Twi'lek male moved away from behind the bar and approached the Shistavasen. Suddenly, the Quarren pulled out a baton from the leather jacker he was wearing, striking the Bothan in the face and knocking him to the ground. Zaid cursed as he hit the floor.

"What the...? What do you think you're doing!?" Shouted Zaid, glancing over to his IG droid who was about to shoot the Quarren before it was disabled by the Shistavanen using an EMP device. The Twi'lek drew two pistols and pointed one at Nareia.

"Don't move, Rebel. This doesn't concern you." He warned, as the Shistavanen drew a gun as well. Zaid chuckled, realizing his situation.

"Fools, the lot of you. Your Emperor is dead! I'll remember this. I've got friends-" Before he could speak anymore, the Twi'lek used the stun mode from one of his pistols, knocking the Bothan unconscious. The other escorts on the couch froze in place, covering their heads as they expected a shootout. The Quarren picked up the decrypted chip from the console and walked over to where the Shistavanen was.

"Let's go." He told the other two, before they ran out of the room. The trio rushed to the exit to make their escape.

Shrugging off his failure to answer her, Nareia returned focus to the screen ahead of them. The decryption was completed and the answer to the questions the Rogues wanted was displayed. However, none of it made sense to her. She knew of the holocron only because Zsinj mentioned it. Alara described it as a storage device used by people with that thing Jedi called the ‘Force’. But the term ‘Sith’ wasn’t familiar to her. Maybe Alara knew something about that, too.

She reached for her comlink to inform the others, but her hand never made it inside her pocket. The approach of one of the men drew her attention, and the blunt sound of metal against flesh caused her to turn in time to see Zaid fall to the floor. The IG droid was dealt with quickly with some sort of EMP device; before she could even question what was happening, the man from the bar pointed a pistol to her face.

“Easy, easy,” Nareia said gently, raising both hands up in surrender. “What is this? Who are you?”

Zaid chuckled and muttered something before promptly being stunned; the Quarren took the chip while those uninvolved in this trap cowered. It was a lot to process and, once the trio of men’s footsteps started to fade, she lowered her arms and hurried to the fallen IG droid.

“Don’t just sit there!” she snapped, shooting a look at those still idle on the couch. “At least get him off the floor and some medical attention—this party is over!”

Gripping the E-11 in one hand, she grabbed her comlink for the other and carefully hurried out of the room. She made for the house’s entrance, watchful for any unknown elements that might identify her as part of the trap against Zaid. “Rogue Group, Gold Group—do you read me!?”

“We hear you!” Rayce immediately replied; reading her tone and not trusting Zaid at all, he was already prepared for a disastrous outcome. “What’s your status?”

“Zaid’s unconscious; some men turned against him—they’ve got the decrypted chip and they’re moving to escape. At least three with them, maybe even more!” Nareia said hastily, glancing over her shoulder to make sure there were no pursuers before continuing forward. She could see the doorway just ahead. “They betrayed him at the drop of a credit, so I need you to assume everything in this compound that can shoot you down will do so!”

“What about those turbolasers?”

Nareia thought back to when she first arrived. The unfriendly Zabrak was messing with the control panel of one of the towers. Whether he was working to fix it or disable it was unknown. She couldn’t take any chances with the lives of her friends and allies.

“Unknown. If they’re active, use your proton torpedoes to bring them down again,” she decided. “Gold Group, prep your ion cannons. I don’t want them to escape with that chip, but I also want some answers if we can get them!”

“On our way!” Rayce announced; the sound of multiple X-wings powering up could be heard over the line.

Nareia changed the com channel as she reached the container at the front doorway, replacing the rifle in her hand for the blaster she was forced to leave behind earlier. Best cipher specialist in the galaxy with the worst security measures in history. Unreal, she thought.

“Peethree, prep the ship for launch!” The R2 unit beeped twice in acknowledgment and initiated her ship’s startup sequence. Pocketing the comlink again, she hugged the doorway wall closely before opening it and risking a peak outside, her DL-44 at the ready.

The trio had rendezvous with the Zabrak who had supplied them with a hidden cache of weapons and proper clothing. Putting it on quickly, the Quarren looked over to the house, seeing the door slightly ajar he shot at it with his pistol.

"Don't follow us!" He shouted. At the same time she heard a whirring noise and soon, the pilot heard the group speed up in the distance. If she stepped outside, she would have seen the four fly off into the distance in some kind of small hover shoe that allowed them to levitate above the ground. Soon after they left, the X-Wings on the platform began to explode one by one. Luckily Nareia had landed far enough for the explosions to not catch her own X-Wing. Upon closer inspection, she also noticed that the turbolaser towers had been deactivated. Whoever did this, they either wanted to send a message or wanted to make sure they weren't going to be followed. In the direction they were going, the group would soon reach the planet's capital city...

Pushing their way out of the warzone the seedy dive bar/brothel had become; Highsinger, the two women with him and the Zygerrian spice-pusher he was still dragging by the head took a short walk towards the closest high-rise, with none bothering the unusual group due to the all the chaos masking their presence. One turbolift ride later, the quartet were overlooking the street and the establishment down below 20 stories up from the rooftop's edge.

"You're not gonna get away with this! The boss will have your head as a paperweight you kriffing clanker!"

"Good. If he will come to avenge your death, that would make searching for him considerably easier."

Suddenly, the Zygerrian’s comlink crackled to life, and a gruff voice echoed over the stale winds “Hask. Did you deliver it or what? Boss is getting pretty impatient. Apparently there was a whole street brawl that he has to deal with. It’s crazy out there.” The Zygerrian looked at the comlink in fear and opened his mouth to speak back to his associates. However, one look at Highsinger dissuaded him from doing any such thing. The droid however then took a step forward and hauled the spice-pusher past the hab-block's precipice, speaking softly enough to ensure that his voice can't be picked up by the comlink's mic but loud enough that the feline can hear him clearly.

"Tell them that you're trapped in the cantina and you need them to bring serious backup."

The droid loosens his grip ever so slightly, making it clear that he intends to see if the myth that felid species will always land on their feet when falling from great height is either fact or fiction if the pusher doesn't comply.

The Zygerrian tried to reach up to hold onto Highsinger's arm as he dangled helplessly. He glanced at the drop below, then back at a droid who would like nothing less than to kill him and find someone more pliable. He made his decision. “I-I’m in the cantina. It’s crazy down here. I’ve been able to hide, but I need backup.” He glanced once more at Highsinger. “Serious backup. And make it quick.” His plea was convincing enough, the actual fear he felt at the moment doing nothing but helping. “Figures a coward like you would need us to come save you. We’ll be on the way as quickly as possible. You’re lucky that shipment is valuable.” The comlink fell silent. “Please, let me go now. I’ve done all you’ve asked! It’s only fair!” Unable to do anything but whimper in terror, Highsinger pulls the Zygerrian back to solid ground; much to his relief.

"Now we wait."

The group didn't have to wait for too long as soon enough, a mid-sized commercial landspeeder zooms down the street towards the still-raging cantina brawl, the open-topped speeder loaded to bear with heavily armed thugs that most onlookers would mistake for paramilitaries or a legitimate security outfit given their military-grade equipment and light blast armor. The speeder turning a pair of drunkards brawling on the front of the establishment into fender ketchup and their utter lack of reaction to the grisly deed other than mild annoyance at the mess the driver made however dispels such notions that they were nothing more than a bunch of spiced-up halfwits in milspec gear and told to go play Stormtrooper in their neighborhood by the guy who handed them their shiny toys.

"You've done your end, now I shall do in kind. Apprentice, Servant: Observe."

"W-wha-?"

Taking only a milisecond to run the calculations and plot the necessary course as the thugs gathered their blasters and dismounted from their now-parked ride, Highsinger then launches the Zygerrian off the roof with an underarm toss. The Spice-pusher screamed all the way down... For all of 2 seconds before he crashes right on top of the speeder's frontmost half, pulverizing the windshield, the spine, ribs and internal organs of the thug riding shotgun and possibly the driver's neck.

"Guess not all of them land on their feet."

@TheWatchDog @Wildling

---

The split-second look at a pistol pointed in her direction made Nareia withdraw inside, narrowly avoiding the bolt that connected against the doorway. Inhaling sharply, she peered out again and leveled her pistol towards the Quarren’s back, then discovered that they were no longer fleeing on foot but hovering off the ground. Her finger froze on the trigger, and she then opened the door entirely before running outside to try and spot some kind of dropship—anything that could pick them up and provide them a hasty exit.

All she saw was the forest they started retreating further into, followed by the explosion of several X-wings from the corner of her eye. The only X-wing to avoid destruction was her own, which hovered over to her with the ladder and landing gear still extended; Peethree went to her instead, a shrill whistle of alarm heard over the roar of her own engine.

Thinking fast, Nareia looked back towards the forest before glancing at the idle speeders left close by. They sabotaged the X-wings belonging to Zaid as well as the turbo lasers, but the speeders appeared unscathed.

“Peethree, follow my signal over the forest!” she yelled, stowing her DL-44 and retrieving her comlink once again as she hustled to one of the speeders. Hurriedly examining the chassis, no evidence of tampering or sabotage was found. Still, she couldn’t believe she was about to do this. “I’ll follow them from the ground.” Nareia waved her companion away. “Stay with me, then get to the place the others—”

She cut herself short, nearly forgetting they were attempting to rendezvous here. Mounting the speeder and withdrawing her comlink once again, she took the controls with one hand and shifted forward; with a lurch she was off and Peethree followed above the treeline, returning the landing gear and ladder within the ship.

“Rogue Group, stay on the ground!” she yelled into the comlink, following the group of three—no, four as they flew through the forest. The Zabrak, of course. “Does anyone read me!?”

“We read you,”Rayce replied loudly.“We haven’t lifted off yet, are you positive?”

“Yes, they didn’t take any of the ships like I suspected they would, and everything Zaid had in security is disabled or destroyed. I think these men are heading for the capital!” Nareia roared over the rushing wind as she blew past countless trees, ducking and dodging as necessary while attempting to keep pace with the four men. “Gold Group needs to get airborne and circle the city; I don’t know where they’re going but I want ships up just in case they have a shuttle to escape in!”

“They’re on the move,” Rayce said, waving off Gold Leader and the other Y-wings. He could be heard powering down his own X-wing and it could be assumed that Kyrin and Alara were doing the same. “What do you need from us!?”

“I’m on a speeder bike following them, but I can’t shoot and give you orders right now, so listen carefully: one of you needs to alert whatever counts as Drev’starn’s security forces to four criminals who robbed Zaid and stole something vital to the New Republic. The other two need to rendezvous with me and prepare for a fight, I don’t think they’ll hand the chip back peacefully!”

“Understood, Kyrin and I will find you,”Rayce assured her, exchanging looks with the gunslinger who retrieved two pistols from his cockpit before moving to exit his nearby ship. Alara ejected Zee from his slot on her vessel and hovered to the ground with twin rockets emerging from his ‘legs’. As for him, he grabbed the S-5 heavy blaster from his ship’s compartment before exiting it.

“What do they look like?”

Nareia thought back to their races. She didn’t ignore the pile of clothing they left behind after leaving the compound, but she didn’t get a good enough look at their newer getups to properly describe them. And judging from an emptied case left on the ground not far from them, they might’ve rearmed with heavier, stronger weaponry.

“I can’t give you clothing, but I can give you their race: A Twilek with—” Nareia described the tone of his skin “—a Quarren with—” his skin tone was also described “—a Zabrak with—” skin tone and hair—if any—were mentioned like the others “—and a furry one, not too different from a Bothan, but more wolfish.”

“Shistavanen!” Alara quickly surmised over her comlink, hustling out of the hangar with an energetic Zee rolling right behind her. “Twi’lek, Quarren, Zabrak, Shistavanen!” She announced loud and clear for the others. “I’ll find people to alert. Everyone, please be careful!”

“Understood!” Rayce said, hustling after Kyrin towards the city entrance that was closest to the compound. “Nareia, we’re gonna try to cut them off. Keep your head down and keep pushing them towards us if you can!”

“Already on it!” Working the comlink back into her pocket, she could now assume more control of the speeder bike without crashing. Accelerating after the group of four, she released several shots behind the group that were to be narrow misses. In truth, all she wanted to do was encourage them to run until the others could try and cut them off. And failing that, if Drev’starn’s security was made aware of what went on, they would be able to help the New Republic apprehend the thieves.

Alara, Rayce and Kyrin didn't take too long to get to one of the city gates. The city was bustling with people, the majority of which were Bothans. Unfortunately for the trio, spotting the runaways with their skin color and race alone would prove difficult. There were aliens all over the place here and it didn't help that the streets were filled with speeders. Right by the entrance were two Bothan guards being entertained by a couple of Bith street musicians. Next to them was a small crowd of Bothans and other aliens enjoying show. While the cops didn't look 'reputable', it was their best shot at alerting the Bothans.

Meanwhile, Nareia had to put a stop to her speeder as soon as she hit the first entrance. The streets were filled with speeder cars, occupying most of the roads. She saw as the trio cut in between the vehicles and split up once they hit the first intersection. Things had now gotten worse. From her position, two of them, the blue Twi'lek and the Shistavanen had gone left toward a series of towers in the distance while the Quarren and the Zabrak continued toward the center of the city.

“Hey, hey!” Alara shouted over the Bith musician’s rousing performance. She stopped directly in front of the Bothan guards with Rayce and Kyrin beside her, weapons and comlink at the ready. “We need your help. A gang of criminals is on the loose. They’re—”

With precise detail provided to her by Nareia just a minute prior to now, Alara perfectly described not only the race of the assailants, but also the tone of skin each had. A firm mention of Zaid being attacked was given; if the guards didn’t care about the struggles of human visitors, maybe they would care about one of their own being attacked by this gang.

Kyrin watched the guards with a keen eye while Rayce continued to communicate with Nareia close by.

The guards listened, though reluctantly. One of them spoke up the moment Alara finished talking. He wasn't all too pleased that these three humans had interrupted his entertainment.

"Right." He replied, a smile forming on his face. "And I'm the Queen of Naboo. Listen, girl if the Vas'Ah's got robbed, whoever did it is going to have bounty hunters up their ass for the rest of their lives. If you're smart, you'll let this go. Now, if you excuse us, we were enjoying our break." The Bothan security guards moved around Rebel pilots to find a spot as the Bith musicians began to play another number. At that moment, Alara caught the form of a Shistavanen and a Twi'Lek running across the nearby intersection. Both of them matched the description Nareia had given them.

Dumbfounded, Alara tried to say something, anything that would convince these men that Zaid Vas’ah was indeed attacked in his own home. Nothing—not a care in the world, those guards disregarded them without a second thought. “But—”

“Forget them,” Kyrin said firmly, glaring at the men as they passed. “They make the same credits standing around doing nothing as they would doing their jobs. It’s up to us.”

“They split up,”Rayce announced; in the direction Alara was looking in, Rayce caught sight of two men—a Twi’lek and Shistavanen— running by. They were exactly as Nareia described, and in the exact same pair she mentioned them splitting up into. “There!”

Focusing up again, Kyrin nudged Rayce before starting to sprint after them. “Get the other two, I got them!” Before Rayce could argue that going alone was a bad idea, Kyrin was already on their tail.

“Wh-what should I do?” Alara asked nervously. “I-I don’t have a pistol.”

“Find other guards, better ones!” Rayce said hurriedly, giving Alara a nod of support before turning around and moving to cut off the Quarren and Zabrak before Nareia engaged them.

When the Rebel pilots left the guard's side, one of them turned to watch them leave. He gave his companion a knowing gaze and he reached for a commlink in his belt.

"Omega, the runners are being chased by interlopers." The Bothan said, making sure his voice was drowned out by the music and the sounds of the speeders behind him. "They look like Rebel pilots."

"Good to know." A male voice said on the other side. "Inform the Senator. He'll want to know about this."

"Understood." The two Bothans nodded at each other and sprinted across the street to their own speeder. Turning on a pair of sirens, they sped down the street toward the center of town.

Meanwhile, Kyrin began to catch up to the Shistavanen who was the slower of the two. The moment the wolf-like alien saw Rayce he turned and crossed the street trying to avoid being caught in between the two pilots, however when he crossed a speeder ran him over sending the beast into the air and down to the ground with a loud thud. The Twi'lek took the chance and ran into the city center's market. Kyrin saw as the Twi'lek began to push through the crowd. In between the vendor kiosks and tents he spotted the recognizable sigh of a spaceport in the distance. The group was heading toward the city's spaceport for sure. They probably had a ship on standby.

All those years running in Nar Shaddaa’s streets made keeping pace with the aliens in a crowded environment easier. Kyrin weaved between people without stumbling, and to those that couldn’t be maneuvered by he simply barreled past with both blasters visible in hand; if they wanted to complain, they’d best think twice.

As expected, they tried splitting up again. Kyrin closed in on the slower of the two, the Shistavanen, and raised his left blaster to take him out of the picture before he lost sight of the Twi’lek entirely. A speeder barreling by knocked the man airborne and he landed painfully hard. If nothing was broken, then surely something was bruised. He shouldn’t be getting up after that kind of a hit, but just in case…

Leveling his blaster to the fallen man’s nearest thigh, Kyrin loosed two blaster bolts into the exact same spot. Whether he was still conscious or not, the gunslinger didn’t much care. But if the Twi’lek wouldn’t wise up, they needed at least one of these punks alive long enough to question.

Satisfied, Kyrin continued his sprint into the marketplace. Following the curious and startled gazes of the Bothan people, he caught the Twi’leks back just as the spaceport came into view.

He raised his right blaster, took aim at the Twi’lek’s back, and—when absolutely certain he wouldn’t hurt those he ran past—fired a single shot. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him panic, stumble, and be more likely to give it up while he still could.

The Twi'lek shrieked as the blaster bolt hit him in the back. Aliens and Bothans who were around panicked as soon as they heard the gunshots. It made the crowd scatter in random directions, leaving Kyrin and the injured Twi'lek alone. When Kyrin approached, the Twi'lek turned himself over to look at the man who had shot him.

"You're too late..." He said, panting. "You are picking on an enemy you can't hope to defeat!"

“This enemy have a name?” Kyrin asked the fallen Twi’lek. He stowed his left blaster and crouched beside him, pressing the barrel of his other blaster to his nearest lekku. He patted him down with precision, searching for any hidden pockets in his clothing that might have information that not even the threat of torture would bring him to reveal. “Or are they cowards just like you and your buddy back there?”

He was thorough; if there was something—anything—that might be hidden on this Twi’lek, his gang experience in the past might enable him to find it.

Kyrin found nothing of note other than his dual blasters and a commlink. Before Kyrin could question him further, he heard a loud crunching sound and before he knew it, the Twi'lek was having a seizure and foaming at the mouth. A crowd of concerned onlookers stared at Kyrin and the dying Twi'lek, while some reached for their own commlinks and called the police. Kyrin began to hear sirens in the distance. It was best he link up with the others before the Bothan cops caught up with them.

Kyrin sucked in air between his teeth and shook his head in disappointment. He heard the crunch in his mouth, then stood up with the Twi’lek’s comlink in hand. Suicide—and not the way he’d ever want to go out.

“That answers my question,” he muttered, examining the comlink. “Cowards working for bigger cowards.”

Moving his way past the growing crowd, he hustled back to where he remembered leaving the Shistavanen. It was good to be thorough before he called this in.

When Kyrin arrived, the street had been cordoned off by Bothan security. There armed guards and three police speeders blocking off the road. From where he stood, he could see the Shistavanen's corpse. Same cause of death. Suicide. Standing on the street were more than a dozen cops, armed and armored, seemingly ready for a fight. Lucky for him a crowd had gathered to watch and they were able to hide him from the officers on the street.

The Bothans responded fast when they were motivated, Kyrin thought. He looked past the many shoulders ahead of him, catching sight of the Shistavanen lying dead; some foam was at the mouth, the same as his buddy who was likely still twitching back in the marketplace. The smoke from his thigh wound hadn’t even stopped smoking yet.

Fingering the comlink he lifted from the Twi’lek, he backed away from the crowd and holstered his pistol before starting to hustle back the way he came. He flicked it on.

“Not sure if you third party scumbags can hear me, but your friends are dead. The second I see you, either start getting chatty or start foaming at the mouth like they did. I’m on my way.”

He cut it off and stowed it away, retrieving the comlink shared between Rogue Group and Gold Squadron’s frequency. “The Twi’lek and the Shista dropped dead from suicide. Where are you two?”

On the other side of the city, nearing the spaceport, Nareia and Rayce had caught up to the Zabrak and Quarren. These two were remarkably faster than their counterparts. As they ran, they used their repulsorlift shoes to float over obstacle and stay ahead. The two Rebel pilots were able to catch up them as soon as the guys they were chasing started running on their feet alone. However, by then it was probably too late. They were going to have to catch them before they got to their ship. Going inside the spaceport, Nareia and Rayce had to jump over crates and pass by engineers and pilots working on their ships. As they ran deeper inside the complex, they started hearing sirens behind them and soon, as group of Bothan security was chasing them down.

The spaceport building was large enough to accomodate more than a hundred vessels. It was laid out to give ships and pilots their own small hangar while leaving a large space in the middle to accomodate cargo and small speeders. At one point, the Zabrak and the Quarren split up. They both took cover behind crates and opened fire on the pilots with their own guns. Not too far ahead, the Bothan security agents were starting to catch up, effectively pinning them in between the two.

“In the spaceport and taking fire!” Nareia cried over her comlink as she retreated behind a nearby wall, Rayce huddling up against a crate adjacent to her and hunkering down. Blaster bolts peppered his cover, forcing him to keep his head down. Nareia peered out to get a better look at the enemy’s new positioning, then retreated her head as a bolt hit her cover. “Follow the sound of blaster fire,” she continued, looking back to see a group of Bothans on their way towards them. Multiple sirens blared in the distance. “And sirens, too.”

“I’m on my way!” Kyrin said through pants and frustrated grunts just before the signal on his end closed.

“We need to get the Quarren!” Rayce told her, risking a peek around the corner of his crate and sending a few green bolts towards the Zabrak and his chosen cover. Nareia followed up by loosing shots at the Quarren behind his own, red bolts colliding against his crate to keep the pressure up. “And we don’t have time to explain ourselves to the security forces!”

“I know!” Nareia ducked low and darted from her cover behind a wall towards another crate, moving just past Rayce and advancing as closely as possible to their adversaries. “I don’t think they plan to surrender, so negotiating isn’t going to be an option!”

“And we can’t wait for Kyrin to get here,” Rayce quickly pointed out; he followed after Nareia, exchanging fire between both the Quarren and the Zabrak before shuffling behind another set of conveniently placed crates. Spaceport personnel must’ve panicked from all the commotion and scattered these miscellaneous crates about. “Cover me!”

“Go!”

Nareia peeked over her crate and fired both wildly and unpredictably at both sets of cover in the hopes of keeping the aliens pinned. As she attempted this, Rayce maneuvered around his cover and crouch-walked past her, attempting to get as close as he could beyond the Quarren’s chosen place of cover and take a shot.

More than a dozen Bothan security officers swarmed the spaceport, forcing many there to either flee and seek cover. From where Nareia and Rayce were sitting, they spotted another group of officers coming from behind them. They cops were pinning the two groups down. Soon, there were police drones floating above them recording their every move. Deploying shields, the guards took defensive positions, aiming weapons at both groups.

"This is the Metropolitan Guard! Put your weapons down or we will open fire!" Yelled one of their commanders. The Quarren and the Zabrak looked at each other and placed their weapons on the floor raising their hands in sign of surrender.

Surrounded just as Rayce was moving in position to take the shot, Nareia ceased fire as the announcement was made. The Bothans should understand her side of the story; if Alara was good at anything, it was retelling things she’s read or heard before. With her blaster growing uncomfortably hot and the stress of the situation making her sweat, she didn’t surrender her position until she noticed the third party emerging from their hiding places with hands up and weapons lowered.

She peered at Rayce who peered right back at her. They nodded and did as asked; Nareia’s DL-44 rest on the crate she took cover behind, while Rayce’s S-5 was lowered beside his right foot. Their hands were up, and they would comply.

Behind them, Alara and Zee managed to catch up to the rest of the Bothan security forces and stood by. Kyrin hustled up beside her and quickly read the room, holstering his blaster once witnessing Nareia and Rayce apprehended.

Bothans, wearing armor and shock batons tackled the Quarren and the Zabrak to the ground and did the same for Nareia and Rayce. At that moment, the police line broke and in between the officers emerged Bothan Senator Borrsk Fey'lya along with his security detail. He looked furious. The old Bothan marched toward Nareia and Rayce, recognizing them instantly.

"You!" He shouted, walking up to them with a raised accusatory digit. "What in the world were you thinking!? Who's mission was this? I want to know who caused this... chaos in MY city! Speak!"

Nareia’s eyes lit up, recognizing the old Bothan from Senate meetings on Yavin IV. Choosing to let go of the fact she was tackled with gritted teeth behind her lips, she kept her squirming to a minimum. Rayce knew the drill when it came to a security force just trying to do their job; he wouldn’t complain about their protocols, aggressive as they might be.

“Our mission—my mission—was to get information that only Zaid Vas’ah could give us. It was from a chip with security measures I believed no one else could bypass. It was going well until those two assaulted Zaid and fled with the chip,” she said earnestly, then nodded over her shoulder towards the aliens not too far off. “One of them should still possess the chip on their person. That information is of great importance to the New Republic, Senator Fey’lya. Neither of us wanted it to come to this, I assure you, but they left us no choice.”

Rayce struggled to nod in agreement over the many bodies on top of him.

Fay'lya's right ear twitched as he walked over to the aliens across from the them. "Do you think I'm stupid, pilot?" The Bothan Senator drew a pistol from one of his nearby bodyguards and proceeded to shoot the two alien criminals in the head. Returning the weapon to his bodyguard he ordered the officers to search the bodies until they produced the chip. It didn't take long for one of the cops to find it tucked away in a hidden pocked inside the Quarren's coat. Taking it, Fay'lya inspected it and walked back to the pilots.

"Now, without insulting my intelligence. You are going to tell me what is in this chip. Don't test my patience." Said Fay'lya, glaring at both Nareia and Rayce. He was becoming more agitated by the minute. Not only had these two created chaos and panic in Drev'starn but also dared to lie to his face.

Nareia flinched after the execution was done. Quick, efficient, and seemingly without any remorse; Fey’lya spoke to Rayce and herself as if he didn’t just end two lives in half a second. His glare intimidated her, for a moment forgetting that he was on the side of the New Republic. Judging by how his men still kept them pinned to the ground, he had a funny way of showing his allegiance to them. She wanted answers from those men. Too late for that.

Her eyes wavered from his own and rest on the chip in hand. The contents of it were only a debrief, but it suggested something conniving and dishonest—the values opposite of what the New Republic should stand for. What they hid from the men and women who went to try and save it, what Kale and his apprentice were kept in the dark about, it almost made her retch to speak the New Republic’s deceit into existence.

It occurred to her that the mission to Onderon was from the top, going far above Madine to those in the Senate—a Senate that Fey’lya belonged to. She eyed him with suspicion. Overthinking things was becoming a new hobby of hers. If he knew already, telling the truth here would only confirm his suspicion of them. But if she was wrong, if he didn’t know the exact details of the mission on Onderon, then he would have reason to approach the Senate and bring this to light. The fracture would grow if not split the New Republic’s leadership completely. If Wedge told the truth before she left, coming to blows would be the best outcome for them all.

“Senator Fey’lya,” she said quietly, just audible enough so that he might hear it. There was no getting out of this without giving him something. Neither answer bode well for the New Republic’s crumbling foundation. “I came here after taking that chip with men and women I trusted to get some answers. What’s on that chip suggests something very awful behind the Onderon operation.” She swallowed dryly. “Let me return to Yavin IV in your custody. Allow me to confess to my actions here, take full responsibility for any damage and trauma I may have caused to your people, indirectly or not, and I will tell you what I saw… with the Senate present, if I may.”

It wasn’t what the Senator wanted, but it was something at least. Her only wish was to protect her friends and try to keep this New Republic from breaking apart any further. Whether Fey’lya would agree to these terms or not didn’t matter; he had the option of returning to Zaid’s compound himself and demanding the stunned codebreaker to access it again. He knew this, as did she. The threat of imprisonment didn’t frighten her as much as the Alliance crumbling.

Either all of them knew, a select few, or just one in particular. Both Mon Mothma and General Iblis came to mind. One of them didn’t know about this, she was almost positive.

The older Bothan scoffed at the suggestion, stuffing the chip in the pocket of his expensive silk trousers.

"What you and your friends are going to do is keep your mouth shut. I will handle this. You have caused enough destruction and chaos already. There is no need for you and your band of misfit humans to cause even more damage." Fey'lya spat those words out with disgust. He truly was still angry over what had happened in the city and was holding back from outright executing the pilots. No, he was better than that. They were necessary assets and useful tools when the time came.

He commanded the guards to release them and Nareia and Rayce were promptly freed by the Bothan guards.

"I'm sure you can make up a cover story over why you were out here. And, I don't think I need to warn you over double-crossing me, pilot. I have a great many contacts and friends in the Republic. People who can ensure that you and your friends are demoted to lowly janitors." With a smug smile, he dismissed him with his hand. "Go on. Get out of my city"

Rayce was the first to return to his feet and approach a stunned Nareia, holding out his hand for her; after a pause, she took it and rose. The two exchanged mixed expressions, worry and suspicion the most discernable, but understood the situation enough to know that arguing with a testy Fey’lya wasn’t beneficial to anyone.

Nareia broke her stare with Rayce and nodded at Fey’lya. “Thank you, Senator,” she said softly, allowing his threat of demoting them to remain unchallenged. “We’ll take our leave.”

She kept her head down and retrieved her weapon in silence, noting that Rayce already retrieved his. Holstering it, she stepped past the Senator and his entourage while attempting to appear as meek and intimidated as possible. Past the furred faces and scowls of armed guards looking for any reason to tackle her to the ground again, she caught Kyrin’s hand easing away from his blaster just as the watchful guards begun turning towards him.

Alara’s dark eyes darted from Nareia to the Senator. “Wa—” A firm hand shot to her shoulder and squeezed; she turned and followed it to Kyrin’s look of warning before he brought his entire arm around her.

“Not right now,” he warned through his teeth. Nareia and Rayce gestured in the direction of their hanger bay, and he followed with Alara still wrapped in his arm. An anxious warble left Zee before he rotated and joined the others. “There’s a time and place for this and it’s not here,” he whispered. “You get me?”

“Right…” Alara muttered back with flushed cheeks. No wonder everyone was so silent. “Sorry.”

“You’ll learn.” Patting her back, Kyrin released his grip around her and glanced back at Zee strolling behind them. Through his peripheral vision he spotted a handful of Bothans keeping step; a wide berth was given, but their watchful eyes wouldn’t miss it if they turned another corner and remained on Bothawui. “Keep up, shorty. We’re outta here.”

Chirping nervously, Zee accelerated past each Rogue and took the lead in getting them back to their hanger bay. The Bothans behind them dispersed and returned to their stations once confirmation that they returned to their hanger was given. But even then, Alara noted, no one seemed any more comfortable than before. They quickly and quietly looked their ships over, checking with their R2 units to see if anyone had come inside while they were gone. Each unit said the same thing: no one had come, all was as they left it.

After getting Zee remounted on Alara’s X-wings, the Rogues lifted off one by one. It was only when they cleared Drev’starn and reunited with Gold Leader and the rest of the Y-wings outside the city limits did tension start to lift from their shoulders. Something about Borsk rubbed each of them the wrong way.

They were about four klicks out from Drev’starn when Nareia pitched her X-wing up, with the Rogues and Gold Squadron rising up after her.

“Sorry to waste your time Gold Leader,” Nareia started soberly. “Nothing down there went as I thought it would. None of it. It’s best you know as little as possible about what went on just in case this comes back to bite me. I hope you understand.”

To her relief, Gold Leader understood the circumstances; while he wouldn’t know about the Senator and the loss of the chip right away, something told her that Borsk would make it known when it best suited him. They could all be coming home to more than a disheartened Wedge. She’d rather be on janitorial duty than face him right now.

A notification for a private channel was received which she promptly accepted. “Private channel, go ahead.”

“We can all agree that Senator Fey’lya killing those two was strange, can’t we?” Rayce asked; in saying “we”, Nareia inferred that she was speaking with only the Rogues. Honoring her request, Rayce wouldn’t include the bomber unit in the conversation. “They surrendered just like we did. He could have gotten something out of them, only he didn’t try. Why?”

“Before we get into that,” Kyrin interjected, “the other two died foaming at the mouth and shaking before I could get anything out of them. They were willing to die for whoever sent them in—something about an enemy we can’t hope to defeat. Cryptic stuff.”

“You said suicide earlier, right?” Rayce asked.

“Yeah, nasty business.” Kyrin shrugged in his seat. “Could just be Zann or Black Sun having a new policy on failure.”

“What makes you think either of them are behind it?” Nareia questioned. She had a different theory entirely, but it pained her to even consider it to be true. “We know the Empire isn’t a big fan of diversity, but how could either of those pirates know about the chip and be there precisely when I was to nab it?”

The atmosphere of Bothawui left behind them, the openness of space was laid bare. Coordinates for lightspeed were keyed as they left the gravity well. The return to Yavin wouldn’t be so quiet this time, Nareia believed, as she very much wanted to hear everything her friends gathered for themselves.

She spoke about what she saw on the ground; the scowling Zabrak, the scores of men surrounding Zaid, and the moment her host was betrayed and left unconscious. They each entered hyperspace as the explanation was given. Theories and suspicions continued to formulate and grow.

“I think Borsk was behind it,” Nareia said at last, bringing life to her treacherous thoughts. “Those men cleared the way for an aerial retrieval, but they ran back to the city—to the spaceport, with all those people around. Kyrin, you said the other two took their own lives?”

“Yeah…” Kyrin muttered thoughtfully. “I don’t think they were in the mood to talk.”

“Because Kyrin got them first,” Rayce continued, just as speculative. “But the other two were happy to put their weapons down.”

“Because they were comfortable enough to throw down their weapons surrounded by the city’s lawmen, but not Kyrin, not someone they knew they couldn’t sway… or couldn’t count on to get them out of that jam.”

She knew it was a reach but a damn good one. Unless, of course, this incident was absolutely rife of coincidences. Coincidentally only two could take their lives, coincidentally the two that remained were more than happy to talk. Or maybe, just maybe, they weren’t running to escape, only to buy time for Fey’lya to intervene so they might hand the chip off. They didn’t suspect him of a double-cross, which led to the only payment Fey’lya ever intended to give them: a swift death.

“An enemy we can’t hope to defeat…” said a monotone voice. Alara spoke up for the first time since leaving Drev’starn’s spaceport, her tone low and absentminded. Processing all the information given to her like a droid, she blankly stared at the blue hue of hyperspace beyond the X-wings ahead. “Senator Fey’lya kept the chip… an enemy we can’t hope to defeat…keep your mouth shut, I will handle this—”

“Alara?”

“I don’t think it’s him.” Emerging from her trance, Alara exhaled as though she held her breath for an entire minute. She couldn’t deny that everything pointed towards Senator Fey’lya, but Kyrin’s encounter with the Twi’lek—the final words he gave him—pointed to something they may never have seen before. “I think that…” she trailed off.

After several seconds of silence, Rayce cut in. “Go on, what’ve you got?”

Alara swallowed. “I… I just think that Senator Fey’lya could be using the outrage to make a political move. He took the chip from that man and kept it, and he didn’t want us to talk. He might use the information on that chip to devastate the Senate. It’s not just about what we did, it’s what he can do with that information. And—and the part about having contacts and friends…”

“What?” Kyrin asked.

“Did Wedge get seen taking that chip?” Alara asked aloud. “Contacts and friends in the New Republic… what if… what if Senator Fey’lya isn’t the only one with contacts and friends in the New Republic?”

“You think we’ve got a leak?” Kyrin asked. “Credits talk, but the guy I chased—”

“He believed in the power of whoever sent him, not the credits,” Alara countered. “At least I think so. Senator Fey’lya is probably going to act on what happened with the Senate, that’s why he didn’t want Nareia to talk first. But I think there’s a third party here we might not be considering.”

“And you don’t think it’s Zann or Black Sun?”

“No… maybe, I’m not sure,” Alara shook her head. “Nareia, that word associated with the Holocron. What was it?”

“Sith,” she responded. The name alone made her shiver just saying it. “The holocron was related to this “Sith” thing, or people. Do you recognize it?”

Another several seconds of silence followed. “Alara?”

“Sorry,” Alara said, in the same monotone voice she did before. “I think I remember it from a book, but I need to be sure. I need to speak to someone when we get home.”

“A Jedi?”

“And a new friend.”

Phasma had to shoot some overconfident Twi'lek trying to make off with her helmet in order to retrieve it. With her helm in hand, she followed Highsinger's lead, putting the thing on and activating the advanced air filter on it. Finally, air that didn't smell like piss, sweat and booze. That stench was completely alien to her, and she could have gone her entire life without having to smell it. The small group managed to cross the street into a building across from the bar. Along the way, the odd-looking assassin droid dragged what she presumed was some kind of vital target across the street by the hair on the top of his head. The guy, who she had seen earlier while sitting at the bar was a Zygerrian. Seeing one of the slavers be dragged about by a droid was admittedly amusing. Stepping onto a turbolift the group made their way up to a skyscraper above the street.

Highsinger proceeded to coerce the Zygerrian into calling their marks. Once that was done, the droid turned to both women and referred to them by what Phasma could only describe as an insult. "Servant?", she thought? She was nobody's servant. For a moment, the thought of shooting the silly-looking piece of junk that was Highsinger crossed her mind. A well-placed shot to the photoreceptors on the head and the fall would take care of the rest. However, she decided against it at the last minute. Phasma could bring it up with Raveem later. Right now, all she wanted to do was finish the mission and get back home.

Yavin IV

Hunter, killer, vulture, stag.
@Lotrix Molick

"Easy, easy now, one at a time!" The raspy voice of Jedi Knight Kenth Hamner did its best to cut through the cacophony of voices, some in basic, others Huttese, Boccee and he could make out a few chirps in binary as well. That must have been the R4 unit who was the main reporter for the Automated Services Network, a current events and "as they happen" interest network. "Excuse me, Master Jedi" "I'm not Jedi master lady" Hamner countered, his voice held a note of annoyance which caused the woman to correct herself "Knight Hamner, Qyra Arissia, HoloNet Free Republic. Can you comment on whether or not you were meeting with Senator Fey'la over the recent data leak in regards to the Naval budget?" before he could even answer another called out "And will the Jedi Order issue a condemnation of head of state Mothma?"

Hamner raised an eyebrow, doing his best to feign incredulity. "The Jedi aren't in the business of politics mystery shouter, even if we were. The data indicates that both Head of State Mon Mothma and Senator Garm Bel Iblis share blame in these matters and while the Jedi Order does not weigh in on political matters, I'll say this as a Citizen of the Republic. While I respect The Chancellor and the Senators convictions, it's my belief their feud seems to be taking precedent over their constituents and even the war itself. As to my presence in Senator Fey'la's office, the Senator has returned home to take a hard earned rest. I was meeting with his aids to discuss vetting the data"

"So the Jedi Order is taking a stance on this issue?" The HoloNet Free Republic reporter asked. Hamner waved his hand "My dear, offering our services as an impartial third party to examine the data and vet said data, is hardly poliical"

"And why do you think that?"

Hamner smiled slowly, his features beaming "Because, clarity is the antithesis of politics. If you'll excuse me I need to meditate" More questions followed and Hamner waved them off as he headed towards the Jedi Temple, which rose out of the jungles like a beacon of civilization and light in a wild, untamed land. Which was what was always odd for Hamner, for while the Jedi temple was infused with the power of the force, it didn't always feel bright. There was something dark and prideful within its vast halls and the impression Hamner got was that the Temple itself wasn't always Jedi (even though the hieroglyphs and runes on the obelisks and ziggurats in the gardens were very much Jedi in origin), that it might have been something else, something depraved and dark. His blue robes fluttered in the tropical breeze and Hamner took a moment to reach a gloved hand up to rub the scar at his throat, his one complaint about the planet was that the humidity always made his scar ache which in turn made his voice far more gravelly than it was off world. Hook, line and sinker Kenth thought with an amused grin.

Yes, the Jedi would bring clarity to this matter, no the Jedi were not political. But that didn't mean this was going to benefit the Jedi Order immensely, it also didn't mean a Jedi, didn't totally leak that information to expose the absolute foolishness of both factions within the Republic. -Wedge and his Rogues might have to be next- Hamner thought, which was a thought that pained him because he admired the Rogues and he liked Wedge a lot, they'd been friends for two years now and maneuvering him into a position where he'd catch a public chastening for this was not something he wanted to do, but this was unacceptable. Holocrons were dangerous, even when they were Jedi Holocrons, what little he was able to read on Rakata and Sith holocrons suggested that they were better off dumped into suns or held in reserve for the only most mentally stable Jedi to study. Whether they held one and knew and lied to Luke until the last minute or convinced the Naive Grand Master to lie to Kale was irrelevant. Their meddling was unwelcome and unwanted, worse it was dangerous given the failings of the old Order, failings Luke was dedicated to avoiding. Something flickered across his senses, disrupting his train of thought and Hamner, thought for the briefest of moments that he'd heard footfall only to see a custodial droid? And something blurry, he couldn't quite make out, as if part of the field ahead of him was warped.

The feeling vanished as quickly as it came and broad shoulders shrugged as he continued to walk. moving from the grand campus outside towards the interior of the temple where he noticed a young redhead, green eyes that had once been filled with hatred and murderous intent now seemed filled only with mischief. Hamner felt his thigh stiffen where her old crimson lightsaber had dug into his flesh, a reminder of her relentless attempt to assassinate Luke. An assassination attempt which turned into a conversation, a promise not to kill him for a day, long enough to hear him out. That day turned into two, two, into three and one day the two were not only a pair but out rebuilding the order. The woman was laughing and shaking her head as he came up towards her "You sure you didn't hear the wrong calling? You were born for this political stuff big guy"

She tossed him a warm piece of bread lifted from the commissar, Hamner nodded in gratitude and broke it half offering the woman a share. She shook her head "Already had breakfast, but I figured you wouldn't have had time". They were an odd pair as far as friends went, Hamner had been a logistics officer when Jade tried to assassinate Luke, Hamner had used his dirk made of Mando Iron to parry her blows until she grew tired of his games and stabbed him in the thigh. His skills as a duelist had increased since then by leaps and bounds, but Hamner had no doubt in his mind that she could still wipe the floor with him. The woman was skilled and strong and like Luke her powers were still growing while he believed he'd already reached his limits (Even if both of them vehemently disagreed). "I didn't" Kenth conceded "Thank you Jade and for the record someone has to be political around here..the alternative is we let those maniacs rip the order apart as they rip the Republic apart"

Mara nodded, that had been one of the reasons they became fast friends, both were determined to protect Luke's dream, help it grow even if that meant sometimes playing dirty. "She wants to focus on the hundreds of independent warlords out there, or focus on Zsinj or Kaine and Jerec. Iblis and Wedge want to wipe the Empire out"

"An Empire that was militarily neutered well before it's head of state and a bunch of its military and civil leaders were publicly assassinated? Hissa hasn't made any moves, yet" He had a theory about that, but voicing it right now would only lend ammo to one side and do the opposite of what he promised. "Besides, we still don't know anything about that woman, for all we know she really is a Jedi"

Mara raised an eyebrow "You really believe that?" she asked incredulously. Hamner shook his head "No the Miryia Janus of the history books was a moral absolutist. Her writings on the Sith were downright venomous, it's unbelievable that she'd accept service in something built by a Dark Lord....She's probably some untrained savant with the force who studied incomplete manuscripts and is being used by Hissa to legitimize himself"

Mara nodded at that, though not everyone knew the Emperor was a Sith, most of the Galaxy still believed in the lie that the Jedi attempted to assassinate the Emperor while he was still Supreme Chancellor, though most believed it was over his refusal to relinquish emergency powers. She agreed the woman was an imposter, but, earlier in the week her senses, kriff all of their senses were overwhelmed by something horrifying in the force..a perversion Luke was convinced was centered around Coruscant. Either way, it wasn't their problem yet "Either way, neither Iblis nor Mothma are wrong"

"Right" Hamner conceded "We need to be ready to fight the Remnant, but picking a fight with them is foolish. Especially when Zsinj and Kaine are far more organized and stable". "And Zsinj has Screed" Jade continued, Screed who'd been a peer of Jan Dodonna and one of the greatest Generals the Republic ever produced and one of the best Imperial Admirals. "Rua Skirata isn't far behind him either, he acts like a screwball but I've seen him fight both on the ground and in space"

"He any good?" Hamner asked raising an eyebrow. She took a breath, trying her best to accurately assess someone that annoyed her to no end. "He's no Pellaeon or Ackbar, but Screed is..Put a great commander and a good one together and you have a pretty dangerous combination. They've more money and manpower than Remnant as well"

Skirata was dangerous in a fight too, he could easily be a Jedi killer if he wasn't so terminally afraid of fighting Jedi. Screed was a holy terror if Zsinj turned him loose, or motivated him enough to fight. "Maybe we can bring the Remnant to the table, so we can focus on kicking the poodu out of guys who aren't a joke and then encircle the Remnant with the resources of the rest of the Galaxy"

"hohohoh...I think the Republic Navy would mutiny if we brought that up"

"I can see it now" Hamner rolled his eyes "Order sixty six was an act of self defense! The clones did nothing wrong!" Both shared laughter as they headed towards the main meditation chamber where Luke was holding class. "Speaking of weird, have you noticed..anything..odd outside by the butterfly obelisk?"

Mara grinned, finally, she thought. He's paying attention to the force and not his job, enough to sense it. "You mean the illusions? The slights of hand tricks?"

Hamner's jaw dropped "wha..what?!"

"HAH! You've been so distracted by two geriatrics that you missed the fact that we got a Night sister or a Force Witch or..one of those weird unknown region cultists in the temple?!" her smirk turned into a conciliator grin as Hamner's face contorted into a mortified grimace. "It's okay, they're good!"

"Where is she? He? Can witches be men?"

Mara shrugged "Not if she's a Nightsister, no idea where she is now, saw her stealing breakfast earlier though. No idea how long she's been here, she's good"

"...Luke's allowing her to run around isn't?"

"Uh-huh"

"And we're gonna let him...let..her?"

"Uh-huh"

"...Amazing"

@TheWatchDog

Meanwhile, the illusion they were speaking so calmly about was standing close by, keeping even more stealthy once she knew one of them had noticed something before the conversation. Jade and Hamner then discussed knowing her existence. She should have expected some of them to be able to at detect her despite the sound muffling, mind shielding, light bending, and illusions keeping everyone else, including technological sensors, at bay. The Farghul's brow furrowed slightly underneath that emotionless mask of her helmet. There was nothing more to it but to make an entrance. She did so love making a good entrance when she felt like talking.

So, she focused her powers to have a little fun with the other two. She expanded her illusions and light bending as well as sound muffling to envelop both Jade and Hamner. Once inside the bubble as it were, the other two would experience a seemingly different world. Shadows swirled and obscured anything outside of the immediate area leading to Tasaia, and she herself stood clear as day clad in what appeared to be Sith-inspired battle armor. Her helmet was shaped like that of a loth-wolf with a small, elegant cloak of silver fur covering her neck and shoulders. The eyes of the helmet glowed a soft gold. The armor itself was colored in the same silver shade and sported heavy plating. From the base of her spine to the tip of her tail was covered in thick plating shaped similarly to a fluffy wolf or fox tail. At her right hip sat a long lightsaber handle, sporting an emitter on each end, signalling it as double bladed.

The Disciple of Twilight raised her left hand in hailing, then stepped within a few feet of the two guests to her created realm. The voice that came was obviously female and actually held an interesting combination of a lilting accent and almost a purr to it. "So, you could detect me. Impressive if I do say so myself. After all, the Disciples are some of the strongest illusion weavers and invisibility users in the galaxy. However, I do have a small bone to pick with you, miss. If you had known of my existence and especially of my non-hostility, then you could have spoken to me. It would have ended a long time with only two droids as company." She lowered her hand to one hip as she spoke and looked the two up and down. "As I have felt nothing dark about any here, I imagine you are here to establish some sort of temple. I cannot exactly recommend here. The wildlife has been reeling lately from the ripples emanating from this place. Something feels dark here. That is why I have not come forward yet. None of you are my enemy, but I wished to remain vigilant in case the something here began to seep out."

She turned her head, seeming to look in the general direction of the temple's heart. "I have been here for three years. Nothing good nor bad has come of this place. With so many other Force-sensitives nearby, I can only imagine the darkness will want to break free or exploit that. I can feel small pulses of emotion from it. Pride, arrogance, and hate come forth. If you truly wish to rebuild the Order as you have spoken about during my, as you say, running around, then you will need something more than an assassin, warrior, and naive self-trained Jedi." Tasaia looked back at her guests, the golden glow in the eyes practically blazing but receding back to the warm and soft glow after a second. "So, what say you? Is the assistance of both a Disciple of Twilight and former Jensaarai Defender acceptable?"

To anyone outside of her illusion, Jade and Hamner just seemed to blink out of existence, no noise or traces. Given they were both Force users, it was not exactly uncommon, though the light conversation before disappearing may have caused a stir to any nearby.

<Snipped quote by Guy of Z>

"I have seen the contents of the pod with my own eyes. She is simply a woman. We were not stored in a sith temple originally, so if that is where you found us we must have been moved for some reason." Carter's voice was calm, levelled with a tiny bit of artificial confusion to sell the idea that he was confused about having been found in that location. It seems Palpatine had really not expected his prize to be found by someone else, huh... "And regardless of what they are or are not, my orders are to protect her. So if you plan anything that may cause her harm I will be forced to stop you."

"Listen here Clone! The Old republic is out the window here the contents of the pod have the information stating this is a biological weapon of untold power. Its my mission to get it to where it needs to be." Hirog started to become indignant

In proper Hiromi hands.

"Look I've delt with the Sith lords little hangouts long enough to know not everything you see meets the eye, also your memories can be tampered with be it with tchnology or the force you are a Clone after all no effence." Earen spoke factually.

collab w/ @Piercing Light

Yavin IV

---

Lahana fiddled with her blaster as she leaned back in her seat aboard Kale's ship. They were currently in hyperspace traveling to the system where they best might find Aren and the whereabouts of the Sith Holocron. The steady hum of the ship was interrupted by her Master calling out to her. "You haven't said a thing since we left, I hope you aren't letting your thoughts fester." Kale stood from his seat at the pilots chair and walked to sit at a table bolted to the floor.

"Usually my mind would be racing... But not right now. A normal person would be kinda disturbed by all of that, right?" She wiped a smudge of blood off her blaster before holstering it. "I guess I'm really too far gone."

"Some people would kill for that level of stoicism you know." Kale said, half in jest. Lahana frowned and stood up.

"Well, they'd be on the right track at least. I'm going to try and get some sleep." She didn't look back as she went went further back into the ship. As she was laying down on a bed her com device beeped to life. "Why could possibly be cal- oh!" She quickly sat up and answered. "A-Alara?" She said, her voice nearly breaking.

“Hey!” Alara greeted so bubbly that you could almost hear her smile through the comlink. “I was just about to come looking for you at the Jedi Temple, but Zee said you were offworld and moving fast. You’re not on Yavin anymore?”

Clearing the clouds above Yavin’s far-reaching jungles, Rogue Group continued on their course to the New Republic base. Gold Squadron already accelerated ahead to return to their hanger bay. This left the four X-wing pilots to continue speaking alone, without threat of being overheard or spied on. A message was likely given to Wedge if he was in a position to receive it: Rogue Squadron returned home and would land in a few minutes. Enough time for them to finalize how to handle Borsk’s threats, his obtaining of the stolen chip, and to get a better understanding of the word “Sith”--the term they were so desperate to hide from those unauthorized to know.

Alara peered through her canopy window at the Jedi Temple as they flew by. Recalling the scarcity of the library inside, information related to Sith may not be in her favor to obtain. She got away with taking books because of Lahana. Without her, the receptionist’s welcome might be anything except warm.

"N-no. me and Master Kale had to go to this flying entertainment district to find some answers about Aren, he's still missing. The good news is we have a lead, the bad news is that terrorists attacked. I'm fine though..." She refrained from mentioning the piles of bodies that had been created. She really needed to learn how to stop making conversations awkward.

There was a noticeable pause while Alara processed the new information. “…Th-that’s good,” she said shakily, trying to refrain from asking about the terrorist encounter. Remaining on topic was of great importance not to just to her, but to her friends flying ahead. They still debated on what to do among themselves. “I’m glad you’re safe. It’s a good thing you train so hard, huh?”

A low groan could be heard from Zee over their communications, leaving Alara to translate for who he deemed a ‘brute’. “Zee… says hi,” she continued, to which Zee rotated his domed head back and forth in denial of such a blatant lie. “He wants to know if you got the training droid repaired before you left.”

Training, right. Lahana wished it was simply due to her Jedi training. The unnatural calm she had stepping over innocent corpses wasn't something you attained from training. "The droid? I asked someone in maintenance to fix it, so unless they're being a lazy twat it should be in working condition by now..." Lahana leaned her back against the wall and pulled her knees close to her. "Did you... Need something from me?" She asked. She couldn't think of any other reason someone would be calling her.

Three low beeps that Alara would describe as mocking were given in return. She cared enough to alert someone with deft hands and higher intelligence to fix the damage she caused, but not enough to oversee the repair herself. That figures, Zee thought.

Alara didn’t know what a twat was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It sounded a little more vulgar than the language she got to hear in the occasional pazaak game she watched. It was best she doesn’t ask that question.

“Thank you,” she said happily. With business continuing, her smile faltered. “I did have something I wanted to ask you, actually. My friends and I… we did something pretty questionable, and we agreed not to share details with people outside of our circle. This information we found seemed really important, and there’s only one person any of us knew well enough to trust by asking. We don’t know the Jedi very well outside of the stories, but I knew you, and I trust you not to rat us out.”

Taking a breath, Alara let the trust she was placing in Lahana resonate with her a moment longer before continuing. “We found something out from a secret briefing. That thing on Onderon we couldn’t know about… it was a Holocron, like Zsinj said it was, but the word “Sith” was attached to it. Does that word mean anything to you, or your master?”

Lahana wondered as silence filled the ship's cabin what Alara and her crew could have possibly done. Did they blow up a few too many buildings? Splatter a hostile in front of a sensitive official? As for the trust placed in her, she wasn't sure why Alara bothered. Surely there were better Jedi to talk to... Lahana frowned and looked at the ceiling. Or maybe not, there weren't many of them in the first place.

"Sith? Oh, yeah. Master Kale said that would be bad. The Sith are uhm, evil force users. They've conquered a lot of systems in the past or something. A Sith Holocron could be used to bring them back."

A significant pause followed Lahana’s explanation and only the sound of quiet breathing over the line would tell her that they were still connected. Alara was lining up as much information as she could on her own. The explanation for what Sith were left much to be desired, but maybe that was all they were to Lahana—bad people using the Force to conquer worlds and civilizations. If there was more to them than that, time would be set aside to figure it out.

She returned to reality in time to follow Rogue Group’s sharp turn towards the New Republic base. The others must’ve decided on how to handle the events at Bothawui. She wasn’t hailed and so there was no warning given to return to base and face any reprimands for what happened. Borsk didn’t tell a soul, which meant Wedge must’ve been safe.

That was a weight off her shoulders she’d gladly take, but it only shifted to her head as another question joined endless others.

“Did you know already?” she asked suddenly, becoming unsettled. If word got out about the holocron’s origins while they were gone, that entire mission was a waste of time and a scandal in the making for absolutely nothing. “You don’t seem surprised or hesitant at all about what I just told you. I thought the Jedi didn’t know about this?”

Lahana grumbled something about shoving a thermal detonator up a certain Jedi Master's behind as she adjusted her position on the bed.

"Luke and some idiots in the New Republic were keeping it quiet, we had to learn that it was a Holocron the same way you did. Though Luke didn't know it was Sith. Master Kale thought it might be Sith, but wasn't sure. hrmm. Sorry? I'm not really sure what this even means."

“Luke?” Alara repeated softly; she knew of only one “Luke”, and seeing as Lahana didn’t lump him in with the rest of the “idiots” in the New Republic… “Luke Skywalker? The Luke Skywalker, he knew about it?”

The New Republic keeping secrets from them was new to her, but she would never have thought someone as respectable as Luke Skywalker would hide anything from his students and peers. Whether he knew it was Sith in origin or not, the fact he kept that information from them in the first place perplexed her. It stored knowledge and it sounded harmless. But if what Nareia saw on the chip was true, then the New Republic knew about its origin this entire time.

Were they lying to Luke, too?

“Lahana, we didn’t get this information just by asking for it. If they lied to a living legend like Luke Skywalker about it, then what’s a handful of pilots? They even kept it from Wedge.” Swallowing hard, she cut back her throttle and joined the others in hovering over Yavin’s hangers—specifically Rogue Squadron’s. Nareia dipped low first and slid inside, Rayce following close behind. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. The truth is now in the hands of someone I’m not sure we can trust to do right by it, and we’re struggling to figure out how we’re going to approach this—it can’t remain a secret.”

Kyrin was next to drop altitude and enter the hanger bay; Alara followed, struggling to find faith in the organization she fought and suffered for. Lies, secrets—these were Imperial terms, not something the Alliance used and kept against their own!

Struggling to keep her hands still, she squeezed her eyes shut and fought the growing anxiety rising within her chest. “You said something about a terrorist attack?” Alara asked, opening her eyes in time to rotate her craft and eject her landing gear. Setting it down with finesse, she removed her helmet and set it on her lap as her X-wing powered down—Zee’s doing. “Tell me about it.”

There was that reverence for Luke again. She really didn't get it. "I don't know why the attack happened, they seemed like Imperials, and we were on a stolen Star Destroyer. Revenge I guess? They broke it's main weapon then ran away." Lahana looked down to the saber at her hip. That was all Alara needed to know, wasn't it? She didn't need to know that she'd killed people, that she saw children torn apart.

She tilted her head to the side in thought, Alara seemed conflicted. "This must be why Master Kale doesn't want to be so connected to the Republic. Too much sneaky nonsense, lying. What do you think will happen if you expose the truth? Honestly I don't really care, do it if you want."

Imperials attacking a Star Destroyer to destroy its weaponry made sense to her, but she was moreso curious about what led them to board one in the first place. Lahana explained things in such a way that after answering one question, she found herself with two or more questions to follow it. It was delightfully, laughably frustrating, enough so that she beamed and fought against a laughing fit. She wasn’t very good at telling stories, which could only mean that she didn’t read enough of them. They would have to fix that the next time they both caught a break—if there would ever be.

Her lack of care showed a recklessness that could rival Kyrin. For a moment she wondered what Kale would think about the New Republic’s great lie being kept from their most trusted units, but then she remembered that Lahana already explained it for her. Sneaky nonsense, lying… it was hard to disagree with her, especially now.

Catching sight of the others disembarking their fighters before moving to join one another at the entrance, she caught Nareia’s hand motioning for her attention. A message was mouthed to her—five minutes—before she turned to rejoin the men who moved ahead with purpose. The choice had been made.

“We look at it similarly to you, actually,” she started, peering down at her helmet. She gently ran her fingers across the symbols of the Rebellion—two emblems etched on either side. “If we just don’t care at all, that’s it. It’s done. Everyone knows the truth. But I think the tension among the Senators and High Command on how to move forward is starting to become even more dangerous. By exposing the truth of what was on Onderon to those that weren’t privileged enough to know, they might feel just as betrayed as we did.”

Even among their small unit tension was thick. Kyrin wanted to confront Madine directly for holding out on them in the first place, but not before gathering the men and women he fought and bled with to make today possible and telling them what they found, claiming that everyone had a right to know what’s been going on.

Rayce wanted to discover Borsk’s true goal by hanging on to that chip; political gain maybe, or leverage—neither of which bode well for the New Republic’s crumbling unity. The man vastly overstated the amount of damage Rogue Squadron caused. Furthermore, he specifically wanted them to remain silent on what transpired there. The Senator was up to no good, and they needed to act before that man could.

And Nareia’s indecision, her hesitation, and her fear of what she let slip from her finger weighed heavily on her heart. She debated on confessing to what happened and sided with Rayce’s point of view. Rallying the fighting forces of the New Republic against their superiors would only inspire the dissent and panic that their enemies would capitalize on. It would weaken Borsk’s attempt to seize whatever he wanted but would vastly cripple the New Republic’s dying morale even further.

“I care about my friends and the Alliance, and I think we did deserve to know what secret they kept from us,” she confessed with a melancholic tone. “I want to believe that it won’t be so bad if we talk to the Senators and Command. Maybe we’re overreacting. Maybe we’re overthinking it and all this anxiousness, this fear, this anger… it’s just all in our head. But the more I tell myself that everything can become normal again, the more I’m unwilling to believe my own lie, because a lie is what got us to this point. And if we lie and pretend that everything is okay for our own benefit, we’re no better than the people we have to confront.”

If Sith were the evil, world-conquering foes that Lahana described them as, then trying to obtain knowledge from their methods would cause an outcry among anyone still decent and good in the New Republic. The best they could hope for was that not everyone knew about this. Otherwise the Alliance she fought for might be truly dead. Some things were too dangerous to learn, and even more dangerous to apply and practice.

“I might need to borrow some of your strength, Lahana.” Alara sat up in her seat and reached for the button that opened her canopy; at the same time, she worked on getting Zee unmounted by flagging down an engineer getting their ships refueled and examined. The retractable ladder extended from her ship. Their time was nearly up. “I’m… scared, but I don’t want the others to know. I fly well, and I shoot better, but I’m not fearless like they can be.”

"Borrow my strength." Lahana repeated, her voice quiet. "At least you're asking." Lahana realized something as she listened to Alara speak. Her voice ticked her off. What was frustrating was that she couldn't explain why. She sounded like a normal young woman, she wasn't shrill or loud. She was simply laying bare her feelings, without a doubt in her mind Lahana could now say that Alara was a good person. The only thing Lahana knew of politics was that it never helped her, it was a murky bog that she didn't want to enter. Yet Alara was willing to face those in power if need be. She was a good person, so why?

"Hey Lana, what do you want to do when we get out of here?" A voice from nowhere bounced inside of her head. She flinched and drew her knees closer towards her chest. That's right, Alara sounded a lot like her. Both her voice and words were disturbingly nostalgic.

"Please don't rely on me... You'll regret it."

Zee’s removal from his socket in the X-wing overtook the latter portion of what Lahana spoke. Alara waved thanks to the engineer responsible for helping lower him to the ground, saving her the time she would spend having to do so. The others were surely getting restless by now. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t stalling. Lahana’s courage was still taking its time reaching her.

“What was that?” Alara asked over the sound of the mechanical arm delicately lowering Zee to the ground. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

"Um, I uh, said good luck. I hope things work out." Lahana was a terrible liar, though she was typically so awkward she probably sounded like she always did.

“…Me, too.” Alara said, a sliver of hope in her tone. “Thank you.”

With a hesitant flip of a switch in her cockpit, the comm channel was cut. She rose from her seat and set her helmet behind her, then descended the ladder to rejoin the others. Strength was in her step and for the first time since leaving Bothawui her head was kept high.



The trio of pilots waiting at the mouth of the hangar turned to look at her as she approached. Inclining her head apologetically, Kyrin waved it away while Nareia reached for her comlink. Before she could turn it on, Rayce tapped her arm and jerked his head towards Alara again.

“Info first. We have to know what we’re talking about before we contact Wedge,” he said carefully, trying not to step on her toes. “I know, time and all that, but if we’re not being bombarded by military officials that’s a good sign, right?”

“For now,” Nareia replied quietly before crossing her arm over her chest and looking over her shoulder, trying to spot anything unusual heading their way. No such thing. “Remember when I said we’d laugh about paranoia once we left Bothawui?”

“Nah, be paranoid. Use that,” Kyrin suggested, offering her a nod of reassurance before each of them looked to Alara. “What’d your pal tell you?”

“Sith are bad, world-conquering Force users and whatever is on that holocron might bring about their return. And apparently—”

Borrowing from Lahana’s reservoir of courage meant there would be no more hesitance in giving information that everyone would need. She agreed with Kyrin on one thing, and it was that the people who fought and bled for this New Republic should know the stakes at all times—even if it frightened them like it did her. She spoke firmly, an unwavering gaze given to all three as she recounted everything Lahana told her in so short a time. The search for Aren, while irrelevant to them, was also mentioned partly due to the terrorism Lahana and her master experienced.

All three were momentarily stunned into silence once that verbal sprint came to a halt. They looked among each other as if to make certain they all heard correctly.

“Luke didn’t know?” Rayce asked, to which Alara nodded at him with pursed lips. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, fighting his skepticism. “If they’re willing to lie to him, then we truly aren’t any different, not even Wedge.”

“Why access something by these people?” Nareia asked aloud, looking to each of them. “They knew what it was, the details on that chip confirmed that they already knew its origins. Why did they need something from conquerors?”

“They want to win, and they don’t care how they do it.” Kyrin half-shrugged, taking this far better than the rest of his companions. “I’m not into religions and all that, but when you’re desperate you’ll say and do anything to see tomorrow. Nothing good would come from world-conquering evil Force people, not unless you want to take over the galaxy yourself.”

“The New Republic wants to unite the galaxy, not conquer it,” Nareia argued.

Kyrin directed his stare to her and held it. “The Rebel Alliance wanted that,” he argued back. “A return to democracy and all things good and fair, and we fought to end the Empire that took that away to beat and starve everyone who didn’t fall in line. And if that didn’t work, just enslave them.”

“What are you getting at?” Rayce asked.

“What I’m getting at is that this isn’t the same organization as before. We’re not the underdogs anymore. We’re on top, and the powers that be are wanting to keep it that way, even if it means lying to the people who got you here.” Between Rayce and Nareia, Kyrin wasn’t sure who needed to hear that more. Something bad was happening to the organization they fought for, and if they didn’t course correct soon, they’d be no better than the Empire they all hated for one reason or another.

“Borsk is a problem but he’s not the only problem we’ve got,” Rayce muttered, to which Kyrin nodded. “I get it. But he’s the problem we can deal with right now, and if he’s as well connected as he says he is then we need to act before he does. We have a plan for both outcomes.”

“What about that threat he made, the one about demoting Nareia?” Alara entered the conversation again, stepping forward and looking to each of them with a ray of determination glistening in her eyes. “We’re not letting them do it, are we?”

“Of course not,” Kyrin scoffed; the idea of Borsk telling any of them what to do anywhere off Bothawui was a good joke. “And even if he does ground her, none of us are flying without her. So, if he wants to deprive the New Republic of one of its best pilots, he’s losing the rest of them. Gold, Blue, Gray—doesn’t matter. She’s got the pull here, not Borsk.”

“That’s not my call,” Nareia reminded Kyrin and the others. The lengths they were willing to go for her brought a smile to her face. She feared that their passions might hurt the New Republic more than Borsk, but that was a risk they each seemed willing to take. “And I’ll also remind each of you to fly for the right cause if you’re called up. I’m the only one who should take the fall for this. Not any of you, and not Wedge.”

“Wedge ought to agree with us,” Rayce said. “And take the fall if he has to. A good leader looks after his own.”

“Guess we’re gonna find out.” Kyrin tapped Nareia’s shoulders with his knuckles and nodded towards the base. “Let’s get going.”

The quintet stepped out of the hangar’s mouth and into the rays of Yavin IV’s sun. Nareia drew her comlink and turned it on, making sure the frequency was returned to Rogue Squadron’s personal channel, and spoke.

“Wedge? It’s Nareia. We’re back, and we’ve got a lot to discuss with you.”

-Coruscant: Imperial center

She looked nervous, The Jedi turned holy woman thought. Nervous to descend into the Tarisian underworld and face many things that would remind her of her past, many things that would tempt her to call upon the dark, to indulge again in the exhaustive energies that ravaged body and soul. That was when the serpent like woman gave the taller female a hug and promised her that she would hold fast to her new convictions, because they weren't truly new. Aladar was simply, reigniting the fires in her heart of old.

They could be so easily manipulated at times, the lost wretches who fell through the cracks when short sighted subsentients sat in judgment of their natural betters. But that time, she'd hugged her because she'd meant it. More and more, she was growing attached to her apprentice, the words she'd uttered to Admiral Sloane were words from the heart, nearly spoken on impulse and only saved from looking like an outburst by her rhetorical mastery.

It wasn't that she felt this way that galled her, love, filial love was hardly a weakness. devotion to another could be as powerful as duty or conviction and when it was only when it became possessive that it debased both the force wielder and the codes they served. A thing, both the Sith and Jedi alike never understood.

No, what bothered her was how pathetic it seemed, to be awake and cling to the first comically tall cute thing that came your way because it reminded you of a daughter that died millennia ago. She could allow herself to feel, to admit to being lonely and to love others, but not so soon. That appeared weak.

And she wasn't weak, she was a hurricane of devotion to the righteousness of her own cause. She was the serpent at the end of the rainbow, the glimmering fangs in the dark.

As the Twi'lik slaves began to dress her for the company she'd invited over, Pontifex Invictus Miryia of the House Janus allowed her mind to drift in the force, sensing the moods, the movements of the great world city as she began to calculate the odds of one clever Bothan, being clever enough to see the truth behind her scales.

He'd been clever enough to entice her into rebellion, to support her rise to power while bolstering his own....He'd been smart enough to leave a copy of "memoires of the Thousand Year war" by a Hutt Jedi named Bontus Evorian.

Bontus had been a padawan the decade before the war and battled at her side for decades and had been among the few to survive to the very end when Lord Hoth sent his Army of Light to die against Skere Kaan when Jedi and Sith both were consumed.

Bontus had postulated that the war itself, was not alone the legacy of Darth Ruins madness, but that it was his madness that created an opportunity for a far more sinister intelligence to manipulate events, to guide both Jedi and Sith along the path of holocaust.

Bontus blamed the Bendu, an order that was largely extinct save for one hermit on a world filled with arachnid filth. Typical for the Hutt species, to come so close to the mark yet crash around it to a vague approximation of masterful accuracy most of their dimwitted, pawn clientele would confuse for the real thing.

And yet, Raveem leaving that...spoke to far more clarity, masquerading perhaps as an approximation.
Unless he was merely being manic and presenting her with a gift he thought she'd find interesting as it was likely the last work of a peer of hers to be published before time and the force robbed her of all her former friends.

All, save one.


For this specific occasion, Raveem had picked an outfit he had not worn for some time. It was a traditional Bothan suit woven by his mother before her mind was consumed by an extreme form of dementia. The jacket had a series of swirling patterns that contrasted well with the purple attire. Each of the circles seemed to stand on its own and had been woven directly into the fabric. He always thought the design resembled what happened inside his head. The seemingly random but beautiful circles appeared to perfectly outline his thoughts. Part of him thought that Miryia would perhaps pick up on what the outfit represented. She had seen his mind. Surely, she would be able to.

That aside, he couldn't wait to see her again. Ever since that fateful night, where he unleashed her upon the Empire's self-proclaimed leaders, he had been wanting to sit down and truly get a sense of who she was. While he had his theories and assumptions, he truly wanted to get a feeling for the Pontifex Invictus as she called herself now. There was something so fascinating and enthralling about her presence, the aura of a being so powerful she could simply snap her fingers and render him unable to defend himself. The gambit he had taken at Coruscant had paid off, now he wanted to see what it is that he had gambled with. The true character of Miryia of House Janus.

When he arrived at her palace, he couldn't help but grin. Even when he was out here, he could sense her power. He never believed himself to be Force sensitive, nor did he care to advance his abilities in the case that he was. Regardless, he had an unhealthy addiction with attempting to court beings that were levels of power above him. There was a certain thrill to it all. A certain enjoyment of putting his well-being and even his life in danger just to unleash it and see the results. Now, he only had to watch to see what Miryia could do.


The former Presidential palace rose into the midday sky, ominous and august as it always had been and yet where for centuries passed it had been largely a great museum there seemed to be a buzz of activity. Luxury speeders, ordinary speeders, military issue craft came and went, touching down to seek an audience with the woman who had stepped out of the past and into their future. Reporters from Imperial approved propaganda outfits stood eagerly outside wanting to hear the "official story" from the mouth of the woman present. After all, the report circulating was that Sate Pestage attempted to declare himself emperor and while many joined him, it was a loyal contingent of non humans martialed by the Arkanian Jedi who claimed to be the hero of the early days of the New Sith War who "rallied in defense of the Imperial Throne". The propaganda machine was spinning this two ways, one that non humans had finally proven themselves through loyalty and perhaps doors would be opened for some.

The other, a Jedi removed from Yoda's treason, from Luke Skywalker's grandiosity had at last redeemed the Order and showed true loyalty to the legacy of the Emperor healing at once the great sectarian rift between Jedi and Sith and in response Grand Vizier Hissa ordered the construction of a glorious and new order of force users that represented both ideals.

Of course, if any of these regimental mouthpieces dared to utter such offensive nonsense in her presence, Invictus Janus would have killed them instantly. Others, came armed with skepticism, desirous to see if the woman was truly the Miryia Janus of the history books and not some clone or imposter, skepticism gave way to fear, then awe which yielded to fanaticism. To a cynic this would have looked like a naked power grab, to a more trained eye something far more dangerous than mere shortsighted ambition.

As Raveem's transport grew closer to palace, it would have been obvious what she was doing, that in a time of such turmoil when all was uncertain and nothing was decided. The desperate often went renegade, the ambitious often went mad and entire civilizations could drown in hysteria, or find themselves in religion. At the dawn of the old Republic, before the holonet and hyperlane maps the Jedi had filled that role, by avoiding it entirely and creating out of the Republic a religion, venerating the Republic with the Jedi as its heralds.

Enormous banners fluttered in the wind, rising on durasteel columns covered in synth ivory and onyx, on each side blew the banner of the Galactic Empire, behind them the military insignia of each member of the armed forces that had assisted in the coup and the personal banner of House Grant, the banner of House Janus and the purple and black of Clan Vash'Ah.

Many grew silent in a mix of awe though as Miryia Farlina of House Janus, Pontifex of this new religion, the religion of Order, of absolute and eternal Justice, of Imperial law. Exited the grand doors, a long purple cape flew in the wind, black armor with the Imperial on her breast shimmered in the light as violet robes fluttered about the armor. But what none failed to notice was the new symbol, embroidered in a platinum finish over her heart. The symbol of the Jedi Order, yet silvered, the wings of the ancient phoenix were vibrant flame and a lance shot up from the center piercing the heart of the star burst pattern. Where the New Jedi Order symbol was the Jedi Phoenix and saber unfurled in a shield over the star this was a radiant fire thrusting into its heart.

The crowd gasped as an enormous banner of the same symbol unfurled falling about the castle, resting above the entry of the main gates in a deep blue.

"Welcome! Sub Director General of Imperial the Imperial Security Bureau! Raveem of clan Vash'Ah! The only soul with the clarity of mind to see what treachery befell us! A credit to non human citizens and a champion of Order, Imperial Justice!"

Her eyes flickered like gems, whether an artifice of the force or through Arkanian genetic engineering, her voice boomed across the palace grounds. "Patriot! Hail and well met!" she called, giving the traditional core world elite greeting.

In that moment, between self destruction and devotion, the Serpent turned Jedi, turned zealot pushed madness through and religion was written in the eyes of Coruscant.

The Religion of the Empire.

The crowd outside of the Presidential Palace was larger than Raveem was expecting. There were reporters and members of the public standing behind barriers guarded by soldiers. But that was small compared to the display before him. That had gotten his full attention, and he realized this must have been Miryia's plan. To surprise him with this magnificent display before the masses. So, this was the religion Janus had spoken about. The replacement for the Jedi Order and the Sith. The Bothan covered his mouth, supressing the urge to giggle as he felt a sudden rush of joy. His gambit had paid off. All his efforts had ended in all this. A new and reformed Empire. Once he had composed himself and done the appropriate waving for the Holonet cameras, he approached Miryia. Taking at look at her outfit, he immediately picked up on the purple patterns used by his Clan. By the look on his face, that little detail had caught him off guard. If it was someone else, perhaps they would have missed it. But Miryia had enough experience to see it. His right eye twitched twice, and his left index finger tapped the side of his thigh. It was too specific to be a normal reaction.

"Hail and well met, indeed Invictus Janus!" He replied, giving her a short bow. The greeting was done in his usual extravagant fashion. "Quite the display you have arranged here." The Bothan remarked, glancing at the different banners displayed around the palace's entrance.

-So this pattern, is that his mind?- She'd touched the edges, the border of his psyche not wanting to utterly maul his essence and sense of self for she'd always had trouble with more subtle mental probing, but what she encountered inside was akin to a nebula on fire or an ion storm or an exploding black hole. a whirling vortex of order within the patterns of unbridled chaos. He was truly fascinating, if a bit grasping and dangerous, in many ways he reminded her of a drug addict yet unlike the Sith. His was a fortified mind, an addict who gained function in dysfunction and what would normally be an affront to her presence became something of admired curiosity. As he no doubt wanted to observe her in action, so too did she.

His eyes took in the display, grasping its obvious intent and seeing beyond. -Now you understand why the throne does not interest me?- her goals, her grand plan commenced two thousand years ago, was perhaps a century away from its end game. -I slept for too long, things flowed without me-

"I thought it was high time you beheld the majesty of your work" she turned, her body seeming to twist as one and she began to walk ahead, leading him through a grand entrance flanked by members of the 501st, each standing at parade style attention. "Aladar and my old friend are not with us, I've them hunting in Coruscant's underworld. Shame that you did not bring that radiation fried behemoth of yours, it would have been edifying for your creature" Raveem may have been force sensitive, Miryia realized, now more than ever. But she felt herself stop at probing that issue, as if teaching him to refine and smith the essence would detract from his true glory. Somehow, making him lesser.
"As for gifts, I appreciated yours" She leaned in slightly and whispered that in his ear, noting the subtle twitches in his body language that gave away how much the gesture affected him, playing the dangerous game he too played. "Though, I wonder if it was truly a gift and more"

The doors closed behind her and a subtle glance made the Twi'liks bow and leave. "If it wasn't a question, Sub Director"

When Miryia leaned in and referenced his gift, he felt a strange warm feeling in his chest. It made his ears twitch and his body trembled a little. What a strange sensation. He had always felt joy in the presence of beings such as Miryia. It was thrilling to sense their power and witness their feats. But this was different. Something to think about later. Miryia saw it, him briefly losing that composure he so carefully crafted for himself. Perhaps, if that mask was removed, his mannerisms and voice would make him sound deranged. One had to wonder what the real Raveem behaved like. What was under those layers of organized chaos in his mind and ISB training and indoctrination.

"Perhaps it was too on the nose?" Said Raveem, more to himself than anything. As they walked, he turned to look at Miryia. There it was, that warm feeling his chest again. Odd. "I thought you would appreciate the gesture. A prelude to this..." He spun around, gesturing at rhe great hall around them. "...greatly anticipated meeting. It cost someone his hard earned treasure, mind you. Poor sod owed me a debt." Raveem giggled after saying that. For a moment, he was there. Prying the tome away from a poor merchant's hands who had bought favors from his family to keep his business afloat in Bothawui. Was it petty? Yes. But necessary if the Vas'ha's were to keep their reputation.

"From the smallest family in a shack in the hills of Bothawui to stars, knowledge moved by direction, move by ambition" Miryia's voice held an almost cheery tone as she came close to singing those words out in her usual melodic voice, only where in public it held an imperiousness to it that was measured by compassion. Here, hints of the madness within intermingled with that image of a noble Knight of old. As if something, bestial was tiring of the ruse and wanting to strike at whatever it could.

"I believe that was the clan phrase of the Vash'Ah in my youth." She remarked attempting to sift through the long years of memory hidden behind a youthful face to find the name of the Bothan of Clash Vash'Ah she'd protected as a Padawan, whose views on the stagnation of the Republic and even the Jedi kindled something in an idealistic youth.

Idealism, she'd fought for it once, bled for it once. Even through the dark, when she brushed against Sith doctrine, Sith power, when the profane material whispered to her in the night, she'd held strong. She was once a great Jedi, she'd cared for the code and devoted herself to the light as some savage worshipping a powercell from a ruined ship crashed down on a primitive world. Now she was something else, a true warrior for the Light, the light of civilization, of order. -All those provincial simpletons who could have continued the great works in my absence.- "a bit too on the nose" Raveems words cut her from her thoughts and purple eyes flickered to him, dangerously at first. -Does he truly see?- his second phrasing seemed to imply it was a mere flight of fancy and yet below the conditioning and training she sensed..an awareness.

"Bontus, when we first met he was no taller than my thigh, by the end of his life I hear he grew six times the size of an ordinary Hutt"
As they moved across synth marble floors, passing busts of Republic heroes long dead and Imperial military leaders, they arrived at a room as large as some Coruscant penthouses, a veritable treasure trove of water and plants in laser lit fountains appeared before them. Water, which on Coru was valuable as it was on Tatooine, more than aurodium, it spoke to the wealth the Empire still possessed...the old capital still possessed.

"The Hutts I have observed, have an interesting habit of coming exasperatingly close to the truth only to fall slightly short of the mark" And there. She'd done it, the one secret only The Highsinger if not outright confirmed, implied. They were in each other's webs now, Raveem was privy to a thing that was supremely dangerous, a truth that bound him to her, as it bound her to his ascent.

It was a truth, the woman whose cape hugged about her body like a cobras hood would try to annihilate every living soul on Coruscant if she had too, to conceal.

Or...proclaim to the stars.

"Tell me, what do you know of Ewoks?" She proffered, changing the subject as they neared a table and a pair of chairs. Her eyes flickered with a silent mirth. Oh, how she enjoyed playing a game of words and hints with someone who wasn't genetic trash.
"Or more specifically, how tenuous do you believe The New Republics alliance with that particular tribe to be?" Here she took a seat, her hips bent and she leaned at a slight angle, reclining, her cheek resting upon knuckles. "And what do you know if the Nightsisters gathering at a Castle therein?"

Slowly a feral smile crept over her face "And what do you know of Gorax?"

The Bothan froze for a moment. So it was true. Any and all doubts in his mind had vanished. He stared at Miryia as she kept on walking without him, sitting down at a nearby table. Raveem giggled as everything in his head clicked. He had to hold himself back and compose himself before joining her at the table. When he sat down, Miryia saw him wince the moment his back touched the backrest. That blaster wound from all those days ago was probably still bothering him.

"Ah, the Ewoks. A proud and primitive race of cuddly little bears with enough firepower, it seems, to take down Stormtroopers who underestimared them. I like to think that it eas their cuteness that caused all this. It is funny to think about. The mighty Empire defeated at the hands of a primitive tribe and a group of Rebel infiltrators. A hard earned lesson." Raveem's eyes darted around as he spoke. His thought process was fascinating to look at. He seemed to speak while at the same time recalling sounds, images and touch. Every word was marked by a unique movement of the hands. He physically grasped at concepts and used his hands to help explain whatever he was saying. There was a brief pause.

"The Gorax!" Raveem shouted, standing up and making himself seem as big as possible. "Big, strong, and very dangerous. The Ewoks have been fighting for years. Which lead me to believe that the Ewoks respect strength. Their hardships. The survival skills required to survive in the forests of Endor. It had defined their culture and their mindset. They respect the Rebels for their struggle against the Empire."
Raveem paced around the table, and pointed toward one of the windows.

"We must... we must present ourselves before them differently. Their allegiance to the Rebels was based on mutual respect. They must be shown that the Rebels are treacherous and dishonorable. And that the Empire are true honorable warriors." Raveem turned to Miryia, a grin plastered on his face. "Will we take Endor, then?"

The Bothan seemed to omit the question about the Nightsister. He seemed more preocupied with the potential acquisition of Endor than with some witch.

As the Bothan took a seat, The former Jedi turned religious leader watched his body language with the same aloof gaze she'd always maintained when assessing others. His reactions surprised her, she expected a surprised murmur, horror perhaps and if he'd been a fool glorification of what she considered to be an unfortunate necessity to redeem the Galaxy and purify it of the heresies and failures of the sanctimonious hypocrites within the temples and palaces and dusty halls of a hundred different force using cults whose blood, sins and bad ideas went into the creation of the Jedi and Sith, the lost orders as she would henceforth call them. But what Raveem reacted with was more, the childlike excitement of a madman or a researcher whose theories were proven right, or proven wrong in a more exciting and opportune manner.

Behind their chair fountains shifted their laser display to match the changing of the Coruscanti skies, dancing in darker greens and blues as the sun began to set. The whirring servos of the protocol Droid interrupted the silence between her query in regards to the Ewoks and the scion of Clan Vash'Ah's reaction. A bronze tray was set down with a glowing pink liquid within an ornately carved decanter made of Arkanian crystal woven with stained glass patterns and affixed at the top with inlay of white aurodium.. The content of the bottle was a rare Alsakan brandy laid down in its casks only once every half millennia. The cost of such a liqueur could equip an ISD battlegroup and provision it for a month, that Miryia was able to acquire suggest that she'd been allowed to resume her position in the dynastic hierarchy of House Janus. Or, that her own assets and wealth had been wisely managed and invested for two millennia by the IBC, or that the moment Sate Pestage gave the Arkanian Jedi access to a computer terminal was the moment the Galaxy's richest gained a new member.
Or perhaps all of the above.

She did, after all, need to bring something of her own to the table beyond her charm and power.
As Raveem spoke and danced about the room almost the woman leaned back in her chair, purples eyes flickering with consternation but not quite disappointment. As though she was content that he'd seen what he'd seen of her plans for Endor and guessed a fair approximation. "The Imperial troopers shot them for sport, something some Ewok tribes took no offense at. Being that they are a culture of barbarian killers who, as you note have had their entire being shaped by warfare and the dangers of the Endorian wilderness. However, it seems the early landing facilities for the construction of the shield generation and some of said Generators barracks rested over a sort of, warriors monument" Miryia allowed that to hang in the air, after the victory at Endor the Ewoks butchered and ate and ritualistically slaughtered some two thousand members of the Five Hundred and first and while the particular tribe the Rebels befriended respected them. A peace loving, democratic people they were not.

"The Ewoks are masters of jungle and forest warfare, they've faced the Gorax for centuries and when they win they murder Gorax infants in their cribs. Ewok tribal chieftains are known for spitting the infants of their rivals in other tribes ..Had the Empire not defiled their monument, it is likely that even your thoughtless, Sith pretender of an Emperor would have been able to sway them to your side" Miryia raised a few of her slender fingers and the glowing liquid began to float from within the pitcher, up its neck and then from the mouth into two aurodium goblets with crystal cups. While she absolutely would not serve someone who wasn't her social superior or equal by hand, she would grant Raveem the honor of service of another sort.

As he began to speak of convincing them the Empire represented strength Miryia chuckled "Perhaps not to that degree, we need only convince the other tribes and then call a conclave with that particular tribe that aligned with the Rebels. It is my understanding the Skywalker...abominations...Protocol droid mistakenly..or deliberately claimed the Rebels came to Endor to Punish the Emperor for his many dishonors, which they did. But not the Ewok's, prove that they were used, their honor, the bones of their fathers exploited to use their vendetta to serve a political end and I believe they will demand the Republic Depart Endor" Her eyes flickered when Raveem asked if they were going to take Endor.

She leaned forward and her violet eyes flickered. "No, I am going to take Endor, this mongrel Charal is playing with a power she does not even know she possesses and I wish to understand Nightsister sorcery, the Five Hundred and First, the One Hundred and Fourth and you, my dear secret policeman...shall prove once again that non humans can be a bonus to the Empire by handing it victories its not seen since Endor" then she paused and leveled her gaze at Raveem and a voice whispered in the winds -What things we shall achieve, what works we shall forge-

"I mean to turn the entire system into a bastion, a holy citadel for the Imperial Knights, a center of faith..for now..for our flagging people and I intend to gift our dear Grand Vizier Hissa with a rather lovely staging point at the new Republics back and..towards the outerrim"

Her smile narrowed into a feral smirk and her body seemed to tighten and coil and a long, soft hiss escaped her nostrils and throat.

Now why, would an empire of the core wish to over extend themselves? In Darth Vader's old palace, the chief Spymaster, Ysane Isard was asking herself the same question and coming to the wrong conclusion.

Or perhaps the proper one.

"You're not a proponent of Bacta tanks?" Miryia added, reclining her eyes flickered to his posture, how he seemed to be favoring one part of his back over the other. We all pay a price in blood for our convictions, she thought, some paid that price in body, others in mind, some in soul.

Raveem stopped pacing the moment Miryia began to speak. He listened intently, finding his storm of thoughts go silent momentarily as he picked apart Miryia's words. This Nightsister she had mentioned earlier. For the first time he found himself at a loss. After a quick scan of his memories he couldn't recall a Charal. Was there something he had missed? A detail he had simply forgotten? Impossible. While the Bothan knew of the Nightsisters he wasn't aware of their presence on Endor. If Miryria sought to learn from them however, he couldn't wait to witness it. But, they were an unknown variable to him. That train of thought suddenly came to a halt the moment she mentioned his injury. He instinctively corrected his posture, but that was a mistake. A shot of piercing pain hit him across his back and neck. It wasn't too bad. He had been trained by the ISB to resist pain, but, the injury was admittedly interfering with some of his duties and noticeable to the trained eye.

"Well..." For the first time, Miryia spotted hesitation in his words. "When one is busy preparing for upcoming events, and those preparations keep you awake at night. It is easy to ignore the nagging needs of the flesh. I didn't see it as important enough."

As he spoke, Raveem picked up the glasses with the Alsakan brandy, he offered one of the glasses to the Arkanian. That little mistake had thrown his mind into a frenzy. What could have perhaps been a gesture of his loyalty to her became open to interpretation. His neglect to attend to an injury could have jeopardized Miryia's grand plan. And now, this small gesture could have been seen as a desperate act to ask for forgiveness. But by the time Raveem realized all this, it was too late.

Her head canted, violent eyes flickered with keen interest and perhaps concern? -He overthought- she realized, focusing entirely too much on the problems he could solve (Though an important trait for his trade, though stifling if one wished to follow her beyond a mere, supreme commander of deathsquads). The Pontifex watched as that mind raced from euphoria, to despondency, crashing like a Hutt's sail barge piloted by an intoxicated Dug. -He suffers from some sort of neuro-chemical mania?- she wondered, harkening back to her original assessment of him as a functioning addict. Much of his inner thinking reminded her of stim junkies and yet he was debilitated by it at all.

Order in the chaos.

He twitched again, realizing that his misstep with her commentary on the Nightsisters resulted in him being caught off guard by her observation. The woman's eyes flashed again, this time they were chiding, reprimanding but they held no disappointment. Concern for a colleague, solidarity and reminder not to slip? A gesture of friendship? Whatever was behind those eyes shifted into near, appreciation for his sense of decorum.

The Pontifex took the goblet, holding it in her hand appraisingly, allowing the moment to extend, permeating the room with her awareness, sensing the conflict the roiled within. Miryia rose and slowly took a drink from the glass. He was no weakling to make such a gesture in a pathetic attempt to save face for showing "weakness" and to worry about showing such a thing to her was where the insult came, she was no small time predator.

And he was no coward.

"A son of Clan Vash'Ah is of far too superior stature to conceal a blaster burn for fear of weakness. You debase yourself, in doing so, you defame your work, your achievements." She set the glass down, then moved her hand to trace across the Bothan's shoulder as she walked towards one of the fountains.

"When I was seventeen, I earned my Knighthood, my master a Dreathos known as Croo wept with joy. He said I'd broken some sort of record, but given the sheer age of the Jedi order I find that dubious...Still..to a teenaged girl who'd come to love an inferior as though he were a second father, well I too wept" The words, far away, her voice soft, nostalgic. As though she was choosing to show another side to herself, though whether to galvanize Raveem as she would a follower, or to simply show him a part of herself as recompense and to hammer her prior point home with a parable was hard to tell.

For a brief moment though, in the flickering of the sunset and the prismatic effect of the lasers on water, one might have been able to see the idealistic, wide eyed, gentle Knight and stout hearted warrior she was. "For a year we wandered the outer rim and the unknown regions he and I. For a year we righted wrongs, faced dangers and held together broken peoples and mended broken worlds. We were set upon by a clique of beings powerful in the force an inner darkness I'd never seen before"

The honor, perhaps dubious as it was, would have been given only to two others. History remembers the death of Jedi master Croo as one of the moments that led up to the New Sith Wars, as with his death the Jedi moved from deliberative slowness to the indolence and cowardice that allowed for the rise of Darth Ruin several decades later. But here, Raveem would be the third sentient to know what truly transpired. "I was injured, I concealed it, as you did at first, out of shame and then out of distraction and in the final battle, that injury slowed my thoughts, slowed my flesh and clouded my wits"

Miryia's eyes met the flickered pools of water a grimness about them. "Allies do not conceal their flaws, their injuries from each other Raveem of Clan Vash'Ah, it is how they betray themselves and in doing so, betray the glory of our cause" She turned now and walked forwards him. Her features imperious but lacking of any scorn and possessing. perhaps an approximation of empathy. "In death, my master taught me the most valuable lessons he'd ever taught me. The most paramount of which is that righteousness comes not free and without pain"

His shame was needless, this was an acceptable cost of doing business as they said, or so she conveyed. "I too have bled in the service of absolute justice"

"And I've no doubt we'll both pay that price again and again. So long as the heretics, the traitors, the fools and the sycophants bleed a thousand times our blood, so long as our sacrifice makes a better world, it is not weakness"

Raveem's mind was racing. Thousands of thoughts, memories and other information were flying at light speed through his mind. But there it was again, Miryia's voice. Hearing her made the storm dissipate, and once again she had his full attention. When she approached him, Raveem instictively took a step back but he managed to not make it obvious. The training he had been given by the ISB was starting to kick in. However, he put all that to rest. He managed to wrest control of those instincts. When she briefly touched him, it made him tremble. Once more he felt that hot feeling in his chest. These new feelings were completely foreign to him. And while he would never express it out loud, he didn't understand them.

At that moment, she told him a deeply personal story. By the way she spoke and met his gaze, he could tell that only a tight circle of trusted confidants knew about this. There was something in her voice and movements that made it obvious. Even as she walked off toward the fountain, he could still feel the sensations from earlier. The pain was gone now, replaced by a sudden surge of curiosity by her final words. She was right. The road to their goal would be soaked in blood and littered with sacrifices. Part of him strongly believed he wouldn't live this through this. But right now, all he could do was agree. Taking a sip from the brandy, he took a few steps in her direction. Briefly, that usual mad stare he had vanished. For once, he may have passed as just another Bothan...

"You're right." He said softly, glancing at the marbled floors for a moment. "It is beneath me. Something I will unlearn for the sake of the cause. My ancestors did not stand where I am now. In an environment in which they could simply trust others to not take advantage of their weaknesses. I can assure you, it will never happen again."

"I was bodyguard to a progenitor of yours once as a child. Strange, how one moment of rhetoric can make such an impact but I cannot recall his name" Her eyes gave no indication that she'd noticed the change, but the slight twinge in her facial features denoted an approval, both of the revelations welling within him and because the shock of her gesture seemed to have steadied his mind if only for a fleeting moment or so.

"If we look back to our history, it's no wonder why the Sith continue to plague us! Why Jedi and Republic alike have been brought so close to utter ruination by them more than once!" Her voice grew in a richness, an intensity, she did her best to mimic the intensely slurred nature of the high class Bothan, who was a firebrand known for delivering his political speeches like sermons and was almost always intoxicated.

The drunkenness' seemed to add a dimension of reality to his warnings. Warnings which events five decades from that speech would prove prophecy. "We overcome our enemies only to rest on our laurels, we recover from calamity, a burning crucible only to allow our metal to settle and rust. We stagnate, while they reinvigorate and they too, begin to stagnate and on and on it goes for neither of us wish for something new. There is comfort in the cycle.."

That last bit applied in the end, to Palpatine too,deformed thug that he was meeting his end when he attempted to lord power over a weaker being in direct contravention of all his order of pathetic heretics stood for. Her posture returned to normal and a look of annoyance flashed over her eyes at the pitiful self indulgence, of even mimicking the accent as if she was no better than a common rube. Whatever she was going to say was murdered in her breast as she craned her head towards the Bothan noting the elevation in heart rate and intensity, this was more than mere revelation.

But before she could draw attention to his nascent infatuation the twin Twi'lik brought in a man who looked like he'd been left in a room with a particularly horny Wompa. While he was dressed in the blood colored dress uniform of the Crimson Guard, his face a mess of swollen tissue and was propped up more by the servants than his own bones.

Then they left and he began to slump over only to be caught by an invisible force and he groaned in agony as a broken leg was set so he could be forced to one knee. "Do Bothans of your era still value the ancient blood oaths?"

Tonight seemed to be filled with the oddest of sensations and occurrences. For a moment Raveem swore that his mind had cleared and his thoughts were once again in order. But that was brief. Soon the storms returned and his attention turned to something else. Miryia's servants brought in another soul. The Bothan's first reaction was to approach him to get a better look. Upon closer inspection, the wounds weren't done by his agents. No, they would have been more precise and permanent. Nothing a bacta tank could fix without significant scarring. It piqued his curiosity.

"I don't believe the guest and I have been properly introduced." He bowed in the man's direction, before turning to Miryia with a smile. "Would you indulge my curiosity first? I do like to meet new people, especially ones with an interesting backstory."

For a second, the Jedi turned holy warrior raised an eyebrow "Truly" she began, only to find herself laughing softly, that vicious, half feral laugh from before. "Animal" she hissed and the man winced and raised his head "Y...yes..m'lady?" her eyes flickered with malice, was he extending learned courtesy and addressing a superior form of life and social baring? Or had he just conflated her for a Sith..again.... "The Cervid asked you a question" Her tone was absolute, final, dripping with contempt. "I'm..I'm Captain Jhado..of the Crimson guard..the..Emperor's" "That deformed catamite is dead..." "Sate Pestage..m'lady" "That twitching, simpering, diseased commoner is also rotting in a waste dispenser unit" Oh a casket had been given a funeral, but to hammer the point home Grand Vizier Hissa insisted on declaring a post mortem treason sentence after a farce of a trial where Miryia was forced to "arbitrate". Among her more unsavory duties, but one she endured for the sake of deferring to the man who was their leader after all. "Why are you on your knees before me as opposed to serving in Grand Vizier Hissa's honor guard?"

The man said nothing, until he caught a look of her eyes and he panted before answering "Because..I...I do not serve Xenos nor their Jedi whores! The Galaxy belongs to the Sith you vile witch! Your time has passed"

My time? She thought; her eyes beaming with something, deep, twisted and blazing. this is my time you fool!

Raveem stood there, giggling madly at himself as he witnessed the exchange. Yes. This is what he was here to see. The results of Miryia's cleansing of the Empire. It was beautiful to witness and he honored to be there to see it all unfold. Of course, this was small but every bit counts. After all, it is the small things that bring about the biggest of changes. Or so his father told him... or his uncle... or his cousin twice removed. He couldn't remember.

"Oh!" Suddenly Raveem recalled Miryia's previous question. "Why yes. The Vas'ah's have always kept to the old traditions. Ar'krai..." The Bothan shot a hungry gaze at Jhado. At that moment, Miryia could have thought that the Bothan was about to leap in and finish off what someone else had started. Instead, the Bothan simply approached him positioning himself behind the man.

"Shall I dare ask... Why?" There it was... that dangerous curiosity that served as fertile ground for his equally dangerous strategies. Perhaps it was this curiosity that made him make that fateful decision back then.

Ah yes, the predator comes forward, watching Raveem conduct himself, his thought processes it was akin to watching the tidal surges of a singularity that was beginning to form inside a nebula. an endless haze of chaos roiling around a centered anchored in a sea of darkness. She'd waited for him to answer her original question, an honor she seldom bestowed, but one she was willing to do in tribute to a man whose madness and curiosity belied a need to correct the flaws of the one center for absolute justice and order in the known universe. "In my youth I witnessed a wretched old Sith draw the life force out of his own child to buy himself a century of life, if such a pitiful existence could be called that. Their essence draining techniques often left the life thief addicted, intoxicated and slowly weakening. Their lives going shorter and shorter with each theft. In the days before dogma, indolence, arrogance and stagnation overran the Jedi, they're alchemy permitted one of sufficient mastery to rob life from plants, trees and in dire emergencies animals. While this was done to regenerate grievous injury the more, proficient masters learned that it had begun to retard their aging, adding hours, days, sometimes months with every deed. It had no negative effect on them...Beyond the conflict with their philosophy. It is thoroughly unpleasant and exhausting either way...Though easier with sentient life"

Which was the problem for the Sith and summarized their laziness, their arrogance and ultimately, their stupidity.

"Of course the Sith, ever the cowards, feared death more than anything and it did not occur to them that sentient life could be harnessed the same as an animals when brain function began to diminish" slowly she extended her left hand, her index and middle finger pointed forward. Sith lacked the focus to do such a thing and only Jedi healers partook in what she was about to do with any regularity.
Miryia's fingers twitched, if one were force sensitive and present one would have seen a shadow obscure her face only for the light to come roaring out of her body, enveloping the shadow, burning it, scalding it, mutilating it and..reforming it.

Jhado's throat opened "Die then vermin and be at once with your masters..and in death, serve their executioners!" blood gurgled and sputtered from his throat and nostrils, from his mouth and he seemed to be held in place solely by her will.

Her right hand reached out, tracing the outlines of her fingers along Raveems snout, allowing the stolen life force to pass from Jhado to her being, her cells and the bulk to Raveem, mending the wound on his back and perhaps adding a decade or so to his life. "This my Ar'Kai, the blood pledge of a force wielder A force-wright not a mere puppet of raw material..a servant to a cosmic energy source"

Her eyes flashed, she stood drawing herself up as Jhado's corpse was tossed away, blown across the courtyard and flung out into the refuse heap.

"And that, is what I shall do to the heretic, the deceiver, the liar, the carrion eaters, the cynics and idolater..to the embezzler, the coward and low predators...And to every single force wielder in this universe that does not accept my gospel..the Gospel of Imperial justice..That is my blood oath to ..you...to every sentient in the known universe!"

All Raveem could do at that moment was stare in awe. He had to keep himself from drooling. From what little he knew... Raveem could tell this was a corruption of the Force that would shake even its most extremist of practitioners. It brought him joy to see Miryia in action. He grinned and held back laughter as he felt the captain's life force enter him the moment Miryia's touched his snout. A few moments passed between that and his reaction. The Bothan stood there in complete silence, staring out into the distance. Slowly, he reached for his snout as Miryia dictated the terms of their blood oath. He then reached for his back and midsection, the pain was gone and so was the soreness in his back.

"It will be an honor, Invictus Janus. I can imagine... no, I see it. The true New Order. Your vision for the Galaxy... it is truly glorious. Order in the chaos." He smirked, glancing outside to the city and back at Miryia. "I have never felt this way..." Remarked Raveem after a moment of silence, more as an off-hand remark. "

Miryia Farlina of House Janus, Pontifex Invictus of the Imperial remnant allowed herself to sink into the inferno she'd created within the force, about her she could feel a bleed, a sort of tear where the energies of light and dark mingled, a bleed growing more and more intense, saturating her very cells and, pushing the limit of her being, threatening to overwhelm her senses.

Yet, this was the grand test, the moment where her crucible became an immense forge galvanizing the impure to produce magnificently sharpened, polished steel or ruptured and consumed its smith in flames and slag. For the briefest of moments it would have looked to outside observer like she was hyperventilating and a flicker of fear washed over her face. She swayed, but refused to buckle, buckling meant being consumed by the force, becoming a sentient wound.

That was for weaklings like Surik and mindless gluttons. It was not for a scion of house Janus nor the Master of the Order of Imperial Knights, nor the religious leader of a nation. Fists clenched as she visualized the tear in her mind, felt the ripping seams along her very soul and through them began to trace astral fingertips along the unraveling threads of the force.

It was time!

Her force of will clamped down. she held firm onto the reaction and bore down with all her might, forcing the cascading energies to slow to a halt, to congeal, to shudder and...to take shape, a shape guided by her will alone.

Blood vessels ruptured, flesh tore but she used the errant energies, the bleed off to mend them and focused on the roiling wound until at last in one final flash of sparks..it cauterized around her and cooled within her until the bleeding clotted and began to mend.

All this may have transpired in an instant, the only evidence of her titanic struggle was a single drop of purple blood that fell onto the knuckle of her index finger.
"Nor have I" she conceded at last to Raveem, her voice was almost youthful, exuberant and her eyes flickered with a deadly certitude.

"Now, to Endor we must...go" she let out in a hissing breath.

To the second act of this long play.

Rhan felt a great pain in the force...but rather then having it coming from the darkness like strikes of lightning in a dark storm evaporating and perverting all it consumed like in the the purge...it was akin to a star going nova...an atrocity done in the name of the light a shade fanaticism and zeal so explosive so destructive it was not unlike the stories he read of Jedi foolish enough to follow the pius dea crusades from eons ago.

Those same Jedi eventually evolved or he should say devolved into the order of the terrible glare, like this creature mocking the essence of life itself now the order resorted to unholy techniques within the force to take revenge upon the Jedi Vindicators hunting for the perceived betrayers of the order. Likewise even the Jedi Vindicators gave into their own fanatic whims and started dispensing justice...without compassion and evolved into the Guild of Vindicators, and like the Vindicators additionally this being echoed the same feelings of extravagance and self righteousness.It was as if something was warping the two ideologies into one..he had to tell his Alliance allies of this threat somehow.

On another world of scorched and battered land a tall and tangled tree surrounded and worshiped by primitives began to stir in reaction to this imbalance within the force. It had been eons since he had felt such a disturbance, not since the onslaught of the Great Sith Wars, the Dark Wars, The Galactic wars, the subsequent pall of madness emanating from a warped mind not unlike this being, the massive outpouring of hatred afterwards that went on an eon later or even the shroud of Darkness that clouded his foresight for a time more recently. He had vowed he would protect these Lightsabers below him from evil...this being echoed with a type of grey zeal not unlike what was of the Jedi Vindicators or old mixed with religious fanaticism of the pius dea...when the time came this creature would not have its way with his secrets much like Exar Kun before them.

A man in jet black armor stood on a dark throne in a massive tomb long abandoned...it was the Lair of his...Warb Null’s Masters Freedon Nadd and his descendant King Ommin. The Call of the Dark Side was strong on this moon for two decades he had squatted here shielded by the Dark Side from outsiders. He had felt that woman before in Onderon’s orbit, the force was strong in this...thief, it was the only word for how she had perverted the force in such a way. She imitated Sith magic but clung to her pathetic morals and sense of “Justice” to embrace its true power. “Drunkards and addicts” the woman thought of our history, she is an insane coward in denial of what she truly was and what power is. She still clung to the foolish ideals of the Jedi while flirting with the truth King Adas and Nadd showed him, the weak die and the strong survive. He would wait this pretender out and see if she rises or falls before seeking to challenge her mad campaign.

A man with white hair awoke from his sleep in a cold sweat...at a glance he looked like some kind of aging smuggler in a tank top but he had a secret...he was once a Jedi Master...before the Dark Times, before the Empire. This feeling was different from the shroud of the dark side the Emperor had unleashed, no it was...a brightness but it felt totally wrong. Like it wasn’t truly natural, it was like something of the Dark Side but it lacked the malice and hatred. It was as if someone had made a disturbance within the force and methodically...repaired it as if it was just simply a tool to be used, not an essential component of existence. That kind of lantant disregard chilled him.

Concealed within the Kathol rift, entities who’d long begun to view the nature of the force as a deep sea of energies, each with its own wave pattern armored, weasel like sentients roused themselves from their contemplative silence. Gazing out into the night sky, assaulted by a deluge of gold and silver. Their harmonious, rainbow like pools of power drowned in a deluge of extremes. For an instant they were blinded, then they howled in agony as their senses were blinded by the fury of a dark that was burned and twisted, perverted against its will. They shuddered, steeling themselves against a mind depraved enough to seek to twist that which was alive into not but substance and it seemed to them that they were watching the work of a smith who wrought terrible wonders from that which was once vibrant and made burning light from gentle luminosity.

Deep within dead mansions on Drommund Kaas, powerful psychics, exiles and heretics sensed the burning light which inundated their senses and burned the dark. A dark that screamed with an intensity as if the whole of its unknowable, twisted intellect was disrupted by the pain of the crucible. Animals rose from slumber, screaming only to die convulsing in agony and bafflement, visions assaulted them of a tomorrow that would never come and of a legion of Knights armed with silver sabers charging into the breaches on a thousand worlds. Of Sith and Jedi alike battling for survival against a Jihad that would make the Pius Dae cult look like a small scale brushfire. A serpent coiled about the heart of the force and prophets screamed or thrust themselves into their perverse rituals in an attempt to avert this calamitous future. All save one, who looked into the skies and regarded the coming storm with a more measured concern. No, he thought, it would not be their time to intervene nor reveal themselves just. At least not openly, not while the being he now knew was their ancient enemy, the instigator who brought about the obliteration of the Sith and near extinction of the Jedi remained living.

On a wasted cityscape a ragged old woman sat on the side of the street begging but it was suddenly interrupted as she suddenly fell over as if she had suffered a stroke.

“Ahhh! Jedi...but not Jedi Vima does not know what madness she felt!” She mumbled to herself somewhat confused at what transpired as she picked herself back up from the psychic shock. It wasn’t of the Dark Side but it was an abuse of the Natural Balance of the force...like the Jedi Vindicators or the Je’daii of old who would casually partake in Alchemy that molded and changed beings. Could her age old sins be forgiven or should she simply wait out yet another time of great dying once again?

A loud scream was felt in the force and as suddenly as it was heard was silenced, a being as old as her recognized such a technique. Xendor showed her once one of the techniques of the old order back when they were beginning on Tython experimenting and discussing the nature of the Force.

This melder was similar but her intent was...warped it stank of the self righteousness of the Jedi but wielded the moves and abilities of her predecessors. Could she be one of her foes from before but twisted by the ages? Something new? The ancient wondered, she barely escaped Zaarin’s failure and defeat but found refuge in the arms of that thug Devian. He cared nothing for the force or even his own men simply furthering his own ambitions, she had seen men like him come and go, his fallen master Palpatine; the Darth Sidious was no better.

He was a fool blind to the force who simply thought it as just another tool in his arsenal like any other lousy weapon. Which was the only reason the fool tolerated her and Durrei, he was overconfident as his master was. Arden stomached the indignity of working under a half baked warlord like Devian, it beat living on the run or having to listen to that...thing in the core.

What little she could make of the being it was a nonhuman, at least Devian’s little propaganda machine could work on recruiting more into an army so he can have someone to man the aging war machines in his planetary storehouse.

It felt a disruption...it was not its master it still heard silence from his domain...strange it expected his victory to be total. The Jedi were reeling from Ossus’s devastation, there was no way...it felt the signatures of several beings...one was strangely neutral in the living force it could barely make it out the others were irrelevant. But this disturbance was not of her Master; it was a poor imitation of his immense power. It was attempted to cling to the light while tapping into the unnatural ends of the Force…Free me...destroy the pretender to the throne of the Sith’s revived Empire…

The capsule inside the Maria began to shake violently.

“Hirog did you do something?”

“No! Holdo what the hell did you do? I told you not to open the stangged thing!”

“I-Why are you blaming me?”
Crap I gotta get this on the ship before it breaks open or something!

He heard a disturbance in the force...another rival arose to take the Throne this one sought to rule adjacent to it...how droll. He wore a leather band over the empty reeses that normally hold eyes, but his true sight was with the force. This rumor that a “Jedi” had taken the throne and killed his former mentor in the Dark side was a disturbing turn of events..but one he could turn to his advantage. He was warned of Blackhole of her power in the Force but it was no matter...he would have omnipotence no matter what when he found his quarry...the Jedi Rahn.

On a isolated world a elderly Sunesi surrounded by multiple Droids could feel the echo within the force being created and sealed like it was a wound being seared shut.

“Master what is it?” One of the droids inquired...implying they could actually feel the living force like an organic being could.

“I do not know...not since the Arkanian revolution had I felt such an affront to the Force itself.” He was Aqinos a Jedi master long before the Clone Wars exiled for his belief inorganic sentient's could touch the force as a living being could. He found a silicon based species the Shard and mentored them in the ways of the force and gave them possession of Droid bodies they were his Iron Knights. Not since the Clone Wars were they more motivated to act...

Yavin IV: Jedi Temple

Hunter. Killer, Teacher, Panther.

@Lotrix Molick

"One of these days Luke's permissiveness is going to bite him in the a-" Hamner blinked, stopping mid sentence as the force seemed to bend about him, filling the room with a soft of crimson and violet static that danced on the edges of his senses until the world about him turned into an onyx black that began to drown out the light around him until nothing was left but what seemed like an empty space in which they floated. It was curious, like nothing he'd felt before. At once the vibrancy of Yavin's biome, its ancient wonders and its demonic past which had produced an almost total symphony of "noise" through the force was drowned out and Hamner realized she wasn't just projecting a mental illusion to them, but to everyone in the temple, to the machinery itself. As if she was defying photon sensors and bending light, manipulating and dampening sound waves as her craft convinced people to that they were hearing things differently. The distinction was subtle, but from what he read about the illusion powers of old which relied more on the power of suggestion this was another matter entirely. "huh? No wonder Luke let this one run around for so long, this is pretty impressive", of course, part of Hamner sighed internally. If the guy wanted to learn these abilities all he had to do was ask the wielder, sitting around and letting someone else run wild in the temple doing Xendor knows what...That frustration with their leaders willingness to observe was what finally yanked him back out of contemplating the mechanics of the technique long enough to reach for his lightsaber hilt.

Hamner stopped short of grabbing and igniting it but now that he knew what to look for (and was suitably chastened by the fact that he needed to be told what to look for. It was mortifying), his robes hugging to his body as even the wind seemed to cease, its entry barred by the power of the caster. In front of them a being appeared clad in rather brilliantly crafted armor, armor infused with all sorts of force power via exotic runes and spells that seemed to match the inscriptions on the walls of this ancient temple. Inscriptions shimmered in the force though they would have hardly been visible on the armor proper. And he recognized as them being derived from the ancient glyphs of the Sith but the accents all wrong, grammatically it seemed closer to the old Jedi runes and it made Hamner suppress a laugh because the binding "spell" on her breast plate would have read been a list of things a Sith wanted on his fast food if Hamner attempted to read it as if it were purely "sith". As it stood, it seemed to be a command of reinforcement. "Her armor could probably weather a few lightsaber blows before giving out" Blaster fire too, he thought and when her tail swished the man whistled "Farghul huh? You guys are usually off being drug dealers or mercenaries."

"What I'd like to know" Mara put in her eyes narrowing at the female her power defenses in the force rising to begin to challenge the illusions. "Why a vigilante from that Twilight cult is dressed up as one of those Jensawhatever guys?" Her illusions might have been well crafted but Mara bristled at the arrogance. She'd seen illusions before, force witches were rare but when she was Emperor's hand she'd killed more than a few of them. When she announced she'd been here three years Mara's brow twitched. That meant she'd been here through the Alliance resettling Yavin and then their retreat to the jungle moon after Endor, the entire duration of Luke's order's existence and well before that and Luke hadn't bothered to say anything?! -I'm going to kill him- she thought with annoyance, it was only when the Farghul turned the conversation to the presence in the temple that Mara raised an eyebrow. She seemed to be talking about it as if it were sentient, or had been once and not just the lingering presence of ancient power? "The Emperor said the Sith of his order and the ancients were different breeds, with different power. I was raised in the dark, but this place feels, alien, grander and more terrible. But you're saying a piece of those old dead Dark lords exists here?"

"not of many, but one" Hamner murmured, he'd felt that since they arrived. The relic hunter, no stranger to the echoes of multiple faded Jedi but this was wholly different. Oh, to be sure, there was an echo of that power, the collective power of tens of thousands of Jedi and just as many creatures of the dark. But it was all, background noise to him, this though? Something else entirely, something intelligent, angry.

He'd only voice this because the woman confirmed his speculation. "Master Skywalker insists we remain here though" On that he agreed, this was a place of power whereas the tomb Temple on Coruscant was a place of complacency and arrogance. Constructed when the Jedi Order had passed their zenith and grown stagnant and sedentary, when they walled themselves up not to pool their knowledge and expand it. They'd gone from sowing seeds of life and order to embalming themselves and holing up in a tomb of their own making. Here, on Yavin they'd taken the moon by storm and set themselves up as masters at the height and splendor. She continued, raising an honest point about how sorely this New Jedi Order needed people with some kind of experience and tradition even if it wasn't strictly Jedi tradition and when she admitted her pedigree Hamner had to stop Mara from stepping forward.

-I wonder who the naive-self Jedi is, and who the warrior is?- Hamner was no warrior, nor was he a self taught Jedi. He was learning now but he'd always be an amateur compared to Luke and Mara. "I see nothing wrong with your offer..."

"I do" Mara remarked "a lot of questions that aren't answered, like why the Disciples of Twilight would take in a Jeensarai? Last I heard you guys were a complete clusterkriff of misguided nonsense wrapped up in a lightsided Sith cult"

Hamner laughed "And they made it work somehow, don't be so dismissive Knight Jade"

"Master Jade, I outrank you, y'know"

"Only in title" both of them turned towards the "rear" of the spatial maze of shadow and unlight to see something bright slowly "push" through the illusion, gently tearing it like a bubble until it popped around the trio, restoring light and sound to the pair who'd been suddenly blinded by that light. Luke Skywalker stood there, in his usual black untic and one leather glove over a robotic hand (He'd had the artificial skin repaired long ago, but kept the glove as tribute to his father). Around him were bewildered Republic techs and a few soldiers who reached for a blaster only to stop when Luke waved them off. "It's alright, this is Jedi business. Besides she's a friend, if she meant to hurt us, she'd have done so"

And killed a lot of people before Luke could put a stop to it. Hamner thought in annoyance, why was he so trusting?

"sorry for ending your illusion, but I thought it was better than causing a panic" And he was genuinely sorry, it seemed that like Hamner Luke was really enjoying her illusions and was eagerly studying the mechanics of it. That he'd been able to dispel it despite no prior training might have surprised those who didn't know him but it hadn't shocked Mara or Kenth who'd been used to Luke's...intuitiveness. As Jade was so fond of saying it "The guy's like an idiot Savant with force powers". Luke bowed his head in a gesture of welcome then motioned to the other two. "I suppose you already know their names, but this is Kenth Hamner a Jedi Knight who keeps refusing my attempts to promote him and this is Mara Jade, former Emperor's hand and one of the senior instructors on in my little school"

"I'm Luke Skywalker" he added and then reached out with his hand "and I am humbled by your offer, though you may end up adding "former Disciple of Twilight" to your resume when this is over, I'd very much like to steal your talent for my order if possible!"

"Hey....Hey you, wake up before help you wake up," a familiar sultry yet quiet voice urged. Dremmick shot awake with a quick intake of breath an sat up in his seat quickly.

"I'm up! I'm up... I... phew, how long was I out?" Dremmick responded to Eira, not wanting to find out what her idea of waking him up would be. She was in a seat just behind him, craning her head around to see him and get a better view out of the cockpit.

"Eight hours, you should be quiet rested, and I was quiet bored. But look! We are here, that Yavin IV place you wanted me to take us to," Eira said as she pointed toward a planet they were close to....in fact... entirely too close to. Why hadn't anyone tried to reach their comms yet? Normally somebody would have contacted them to state their purpose and guide them to where the nearest landing port would be.

"E-Eira, has anyone tried to contact us?" he asked.

"No, not yet....," there was a moment of silence as Dremmick could only imagine was Eira realizing what he meant, "OH MY GOSH, THE DAMPENERS!" Eira exclaimed as she sat back down more in her seat and concentrated on her data link, hearing Dremmick sigh as she did so. Quickly the dampeners were switched off and their presence should be seen, though it might look strange that they popped up so late on anyone's radar down there, they weren't entirely so close to hopefully cause much of a panic. After all, he could still see most the curve of the planet and hadn't broken into their atmosphere.

Dremmick shook his head and reached for a radio to make contact with whoever would be monitoring their position and spoke into an open channel. "Nexu to Yavin IV, requesting permission to land. My apologies for the sudden appearance, nearly forgot to shut down dampeners."

Jade seemed ready to pounce, so as soon as hostility almost began, the Farghul had her hand on the haft of her saber. The hostility ceased quickly as they were interrupted. Tasaia watched as Luke broke her illusion rather easily. It fit her observations of him being surprisingly strong despite little to no training. After all, even the most untrained could break most things with brute force, especially carefully woven tapestries like illusions.

"Mmmm, let me answer Master Jade's question first. The Disciples offered me entrance once it was clear that I was in line with their mindset. The Jensaarai held nothing for me after the purge, so I isolated myself to meditate and understand who I am. The order is not chaotically designed. In fact, with the exception of the isolation causing ignorance of history, they mostly resemble Jedi. The key differences are ranks, equipment, and mentality about aggression. Every Jedi I have met views aggression as a path to the Dark Side. Some may fall due to it, but a Jensaarai trains diligently to use it without closing in on that point. We temper aggression with discipline. Our sabers are handcrafted, but they are simply our weapon. Our true bond is to our armor. We make it by hand, picking an animal that fights defensively to emulate. Mine is a loth-wolf. They were legendary creatures that were Force-sensitive and guardians of the balance on their world."

She stopped momentarily to settle back into a relaxed position and remove her helmet. "I ceased to fit the mold once the purge took my master. I had just become a Defender, a mix between your Knights and Masters. The Disciple picked up on that and my desire to help and protect. The offer suited me. I left quietly, letting my old order think as they will. I am no traitor, simply someone who fell from the fold. They neglected to make an attempt to quell my grief and misgivings."

She then turned to Hamner, flashing a white grin of sharp teeth. "My, my, all those assumptions. Yes, I am a Farghul, but I have no recollection of the homeworld or even my parents. I was raised by my master, She was a great woman and surprisingly accepting for a human. She told me that the documents seized explained that I was taken by slavers as an infant and kept enslaved and sedated for fourteen years. I remember nothing during that time. My first memory is of a hospital bed and my master asleep on it from fussing over me all night. I believe that is sufficient back story for me."

Her final turn was to approach Luke and take his hand, giving it a light shake. "I highly doubt you would approve of my usual work, so I would rather not get this order into hot water. As you may know, Disciples are known to take down tyrants. I have killed those I cannot depose. I do this to save civilians from harm. It may not reflect well politically. However, I do bring knowledge of many Force abilities, with my specialties being illusions and cloaking as well as barriers and healing. We will see where this goes, Master Luke."

"We're approaching ISB Head Quarters Director" A scarlet-clad trooper's metallic voice filtered across the cockpit of the imperial shuttle, one of the hundreds that glided through the indigo-colored skies of the greatest city ever built. A city founded by explorers, independent thinkers, men and women of conviction, of breeding. It rose out of the grounds of a savage world filled with the mindless primitives whom the Mandalorian filth claimed as their spiritual progenitors. In time, twelve tribes of men overthrew those vile thugs and established the world's first city, a jewel in a land of vermin. From that august acropolis came the Galaxy's first ecumenopolis, the world city.

The Bright Jewel, the cradle of Civilization.

Of human civilization.

Which was the problem, Ysanne Isard decided. Oh she'd taken pleasure in watching another woman knock over all the fatuous, vacant and pathetic. The worthless thugs who believed their graft and brinkmanship and petty lobbying for posts, commissions and ultimately moffdom made them powerful. It was nice to see them done in by one they demeaned so. But she was the wrong one, a non human, an alien, the Xeno, a Jedi no less! A traitor by association even if she'd passed into her long sleep before Jedi treachery abounded. But it made her no less guilty, no less foul and no less unworthy.

She was planning something too, oh sure there was the great campaign, a meaningless waste of resources to achieve a pointless symbolic victory to avenge a man she very clearly reviled (Isard was there when an adept compared her to Palpatine several days after her awakening. She ripped his spine out of his back with the force in one of the most grotesque displays of indignation she'd ever seen). No, though Isard ran the arguments the snake would likely make to justify the expedition through her head she couldn't quite figure out what the real reasons were. There was something else being planned, something nigh on unthinkable.

-I will determine what- she thought,

But divining the riddles of a maniac wasn't her purpose today so much as trying to reach another lunatic. A vile, disgusting Cervid descended upjumped piece of venison that she should have had served up on a platter or rendered into jerky long ago. Bothan filth! She hated them, oh how she remembered her youth, during the clone wars when her father constantly had to fend off the ambitious degenerates from a species of liars, spies, traffickers and informants. Bothan honor! Fah! She knew the moment he assumed any power in ISB that Blackhole was either completely senile or dead for allowing it to happen at all. His arrogant gibbering at the meeting only proved her right.

Carvin's dismissal rang in her ears as the shuttle landed on one of the docking platforms that flanked ISB headquarters and Isard rose, her heterochromatic hair fluttering in the city wind, a storm was brewing again. Whoever was manning the weather controls needed to be shot, this was the second day in a row and she made a mental note to fabricate a treason charge on the man later.

A woman's place was on her back or in the kitchen. -and your place belongs mounted on my wall right beside the inhuman scum running ISB!- she thought, bitterness exuding from her being and a deepening feeling of resentment mounting. Why was the Bothan seen as "a regrettable necessity" while she was dismissed? She was far more vital than that prancing hornless cuckold. She would show him that one day, that was the promise she'd made before she stormed into her shuttle to make the trek here.

she would show him

But for now, she needed him.

Without the willing support of the others, she needed help forcing them to support her bid for power against the "Pontifex Invictus". While her domain was foreign spies, the wars and the wider Galaxy it was always ISB that amassed the blackmail dossiers and purple files.

Black clad shadow Troopers moved to obstruct her, Isard stormed passed them and ordered her men to stun them for their impudence. She would not be denied by a Bothan...Not today.

Isard's march throughout the facility was unimpeded for the most part. Raveem's new Shadow Troopers had seemingly gotten the memo to stay away from her. The Bothan had set up a new office space at the very top of the building. Unfortunately for Isard, the elevators were out of service. Even if she demanded to be let into one of the lifts, the technicians working on them refused to. The Imperial Intelligence Director was forced to take the stairs or leave. Over the next half hour, Isard had to climb over a thousand steps to get to the 115th floor of the building where Raveem had built a new office. When she arrived, she was greeted by a great hall adorned with purple banners alongside the flags of the Galactic Empire. In the center was a desk with a protocl droid sitting behind the desk.

"Welcome, Director Isard." The droid said, standing up with a pad in its hand. Its personality module had been replaced with a feminine one and it had been colored silver over the usual Imperial black. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I breathe you spark-less appliance" Isard's voice brimmed with venom, it was bad enough those slime descended Gammorian brained simpletons hadn't finished their work during the hours that the Directors were traditionally "off duty" (Though, the one she would grudgingly admit was that neither she nor the Bothan were ever truly off duty) but now this, convenience item was daring to hold the director of the I.I to the standards of a mere moff? The lack of professional courtesy was infuriating, curse this fiasco. "Now stand aside or my crimson guard will turn you into scrap and set fire to this shallow excuse for a reception room!"

The Coup Raveem had engineered was alarming, it had come almost out of nowhere, organized on a whim months prior when the ISB director realized who the woman was that had been discovered in the stasis pod. -He'd been one the first to realize it too and the first to acquire a strand of hair for genetic testing- She thought bitterly, the eagerness had been dismissed at the time as obvious, common sense measures. But, it seemed odd, almost as if he was an excited child discovering a missing piece or a puzzle. The alternative was that he'd organized the little overthrow on a whim mere days before it happened and that was a possibility she couldn't allow herself to contemplate.

to her left, a transparasteel window's blinds began to flicker close as the solar cycle for this part of the planet entered its mid day phase and the light beaming through began to intensify, matching the fury threatening to boil over within director Isard's atrophied heart. no, she thought, you need to measure yourself. Bravado wasn't going to work with the alien, it had barely worked on her own peers. "that is to say, the Director of Imperial Intelligence has to speak to the director of the Security Bureau on an urgent matter of planetary security and it cannot wait". As if the Emphasize her point, two of her guards stepped forward.

"Ah. Yes, you do have an appointment. Excuse my ignorance. Please, this way."
The protocol droid led Isard and her escorts into the large office beyond. Going through a pair of glass doors, Isard and her guard were greeted by an empty office. When the protoco droid turned to apologize, Raveem emerged from a side door to Isard's left flank. For a moment be stared at her and then to her guards, like a child having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Slowly, he reached for crotch area and zipped up his black ISB uniform trousers before crossing the room, still keeping his eyes on Isard and stopping at a mini bar. There, he washed his hands on a small basin and dried them with a towel. Finally, he turned to them properly.

"TC?"

The droid turned his head toward the Director, "Yes, sir?"

"I thought I said that you needed to stall her?" He said casually, as if Isard wasn't even standing right across from him. "You know what that means, right?"

"My apologies sir, but the Director insisted that this was a top security matter."
Raveem sighed. It was like he was speaking to an innocent child. Poor thing.

"Of course. Go on then, before she shoots you."
Raveem then walked over to his desk and sat down as the protocol droid shuffled away back to its desk, leaving Raveem alone with Isard and her escort.

"Ysanne Isard!" He exclaimed, raising his hands in the air before putting them back together in front of him, interlocking his fingers. "We meet at last. I may be a little late, but, my condolonces for your father. He will be dearly missed..."

"And here I thought you found religion" Isard remarked an eyebrow raised and her tone dismissively chiding. Doing her best to keep her expression a wry smirk, doing her best to keep her body from lurching as the mental image of a Bothan pleasuring himself continued to assault her mind like a Hutt at an all you can eat buffet. -This is what the Empire is reduced too...dependency upon this..thing- Was he Blackhole's creature? Or had the mad sorcerer gone so crazy he allowed this pathetic creature to amass the power he amassed solely out of a sense of amusement? There was discrepancy after all...And both of them shared madness. as their defining trait.

When he began to bring up her father, the woman had to redouble her efforts, her nostrils flaring for the briefest of seconds before she calmed her fury. "My..Father" she began slowly, was none of your business you filthy moose! "My father always considered the Bothans to be..worthy rivals" she spoke the last part as if she was being forced to digest something foul. "I must...congratulate you. A rising star in Imperial intelligence, non human and from a species stubbornly attached to those damnable rebels" Her posture began to twitch, doing her best to remain rigid she walked towards one of the windows, gazing out at the bustling traffic. Corsec security speeders buzzed towards what looked like the palace district. -Another riot- she thought, likely followers of this week old religion kicking around adherents to the old way. the so called "corrupt" as if their monstrous master was any better.

"I'm curious, my dossier on you suggests you remained on the sidelines, the ascent of your career has been one of maneuvers and feints and counter feints in the dark" She turned back towards him, allowing the sun to flow around her crimson uniform. Doing her best to emulate the body language of that Jedi witch and failing.

"So when I heard you stood side by side this..Pontifex Invictus" she spat the words out contemptuously "As she slaughters a Grand Vizier by animating his own throne, in public, before witnesses..as she butchers Grand Admirals and Moffs on a whim, you support such loudness?!" His eyes narrowed, feigning concern.

"Why would you risk yourself in such a way?" Why would you so foolishly support such an insane, unsubtle and violent monster...Though words died in her throat though, even if her eyes conveyed it.

The Bothan giggled as be turned his chaid to face Isard. What a hideous sight, he thought. She was a pretender. Hiding her true emotions under a half-shattered mask. With some prying and prodding, he knew he could break it into pieces. He wanted to see the starving rancor within her. But not yet. He would save that delicious entertainment for later. The Bothan leaned in on one elbow against his desk, taking in the full disgusting sight of the female human.

"You're so fascinating, Director Isard..." He said softly, his eyes fixating on her heterochromic orbs. She hated him. It was taking a lot for her to come in here and even speak to him. "I admire your commitment to whatever it is you are fighting for." Raveem leaned away from the table, switching poses. "I mean, you are fighting for yourself. But, let's be idealistic here. I do love to pretend. Don't you?"
Isard couldn't read his eyes. It was like he was in another world. Did he consume death sticks or some other drug? It certainly looked like it. She could barely read his expressions.

Ysanne Isard remained silent, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing at the presumptuous Xeno. She couldn't fully read the flickering of his eyes, she couldn't make sense of his body language. What made it even worse was his fur's lack of alteration, she knew he was engaging in deception and yet the Bothan trait of their coats shifting as they lied (Which was a bizarre trait to possess for a race of spymasters and politicians, begrudgingly she recognized it was a testament of their skill in the art of passing poodu off as shimmer silk). -Chaos take him! Is he so mad that he believes anything he says? Or has he persuaded himself that dishonesty for a greater truth is honesty?- Oh, how she hated this creature. When he began to speak the hollowness of his platitude belied the insult within and Isard laughed "Truly Bothan, are we not soldier's of the Empire?" She asked rhetorically, as if that fact justified everything, every moment of duplicity, every self centered and heedless decision that the council had made that cost them parsec after parsec to an advancing Rebel militia. Speeders slowed to a hovering stop as the mid day rush back from lunch to work began in earnest. "Everyone is in it for his or herself, even your precious Jedi. Or do you really think her spiel about "Creating a new order to spread civilization and Imperial justice across the stars" is truly altruistic quest?"

He couldn't be that simple and she couldn't be that fanatical. No one, not even the Jedi she knew as a child were that zealous, that insane. They had long ago abandoned serving the force, they served the corruption of the Republic.

And even then, they served it to perpetuate their own misguided faith. "She sneers and call us vermin, she demeans and mocks the Emperor's legacy while inserting herself into our path! The hypocrisy should be obvious even to you...Director Vash'Ah"

The Bothan raised a finger in the air as he stood up, seemingly telling her to stop talking. He fixed his eyes on of her bodyguards and walked toward him in silence even when he gestured like he was about to say something. That silence continued as he comically shuffled over to the crimson stormtrooper and then walked over to the other in a sorry imitation of a goose-step march.

"Do you hear that, Director?" Raveem exclaimed, standing face to face with the stormtrooper while raising the same digit again. What was he on about? "It sounds like..." The Bothan turned on his heels, keeping to the mockery of Imperial military march protocol "What does it sound like? You tell me."
It sounds like he hadn't heard anything she said. Was he ignoring her? Or did her simply not understand. No way. Someone so... stupid couldn't have gone this far. He was playing games with her, but knowing that was pointless. It was the purpose of this madness that eluded her.

Ysanne Isard was at the point now where she'd have ordered him flayed alive, stuffed in a bacta tank and then flayed akin as soon as his skin regenerated sufficiently. Her whole body heaven in place, her wrist twitching as she did her best to remain calm, mismatched eyes blazed like the fire at the center of a hypmatter reactor. When he rose and began to shuffle, one of the guards instinctively leveled his blaster only to stare in confusion as he began to effect a Storm Trooper marching cadence in as over the top a manner as possible. -Is this fool mocking me by acting like a preening invalid?- for a moment bafflement superseded fury and she gazed in stunned silence at the figure before her. No, this wasn't an invalid, it couldn't be...He had to be something else. Insane perhaps, an idiot savant? Outside, she could hear the traffic pick up, large caravans of speeders were heading to the old presidential palace...to supplicate themselves before some damned Alien witch. "I hear the voice of a malicious harpie, a woman whose time came and went over a thousand years before we were born. A relic from a war whose main objective was the extermination of everything the founder of Empire believed in. I hear her malignant laughter as she cuckolds us into becoming a mockery of all that we are!" Isard hissed, her eyes flaring with hatred. This woman was a usurper, the throne was hers! Not that Jedi harpie, not that maniac wizard, Blackhole and not this stunted Bothan...her eyes widened, of course.

This uplifted Moose believed he would have a place beside her when she stole the Empire? Isard almost laughed. "she is diverting almost our entire construction fleet, our repair vessels and the one mobile space port we still possess...reactor fuel, provisions, Tebana gas...burning through billions of credits to requisition civilian liners" Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you not see what she's doing? Do you think she'll extend to treatment that's any different? Fool, your death coils in that palace! hissing poison meant for you as well as us!"

The Bothan smiled. A smile that would perhaps send shivers down the spine of any normal being. For Isard, it would have just confirmed her suspicions that Raveem was beyond insane. Those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the Bothan making an obnoxious noise that sounded less like a buzzer and more like a Bantha mating call.
"Wrong again!" He exclaimed, as he spun around to face the crimson soldier behind him. Raveem's head tilted to the side as he inspected the stormtrooper with a dissaproving look.

"I always hated this red color..." The Bothan said softly as he extended one arm toward the other crimson soldier, who turned his head to stare at him in confusion. From the Bothan's sleeve shot out two large darts that flew across the room and hit the trooper in the chest. Panicking he dropped his weapon, reaching for his chest. But by then, it was too late. His armored chest exploded into a mess of pieces of armor, blood and bones. It instantly killed him. The other went to strike Raveem with the butt of his weapon, but the Bothan seemed to be one step ahead. With a single move, he dodged the attack and grabbed the soldiers baton from his utility belt. Raveem then stunned him using tje weapon making the stormtrooper fall to the floor. Now stunned, the Bothan crawled on top of the soldier removing his helmet.

"I. Always. Hated. The. Red Color!!!" Raveem shouted as he disfugured the man with every strike, staining both his white tunic and the floor in blood. Clearing his throat, he tossed the baton aside and fixed his blood stained uniform.

"I'm bored." Raverm exclaimed, panting. "So let's get to the topic at hand. Desperation. Yes. That is what I am hearing. And what you should be hearing too."

There were very few beings in the whole of the known universe who could be said to have intimidated the Spymaster, heiress of a family of Spy masters. ISB director Raveem was not one of them, even as the guards torso exploded the woman remained without fear, but something did change in her eyes. She'd ignored the Bothan before, dismissed him as an upjumped Xeno scum, an essential member of the intelligence community that she had to grudgingly endure. But now, as the slaughtered her men and defaced the cadaver of one, howling about his dislike of the color of her uniform Isard's dismissal and contempt was replaced with hatred and disgust.

"Desperate?!" The woman roared storming forward, her own madness and rage overriding sense. "you stupid provincial little animal! You evolved prey! Which one of us is desperate you buffoon? Who butchers my men to sate a fit if pique? You idiot, you brain blasted rancid piece of Dantooine venison. You disgrace your own office acting like a thug" she spat the last part out and waved a hand dismissively "And to think Blackhole allowed someone like you to occupy one of the positions he previously held. He must have been spiced out of his mind!" Her voice waivered, adrenaline surging as she reached for her own gun only to stop herself.

No, I'm not a savage, not like this one. "Get it through your head animal that woman doesn't care about you, she doesn't mocks the Emperor we both served and takes pleasure in killing or converting his surviving acolytes! She wants to burn the Galaxy! Don't you see?! The ships she's requisitioning, the orders Hissa is giving out..DON'T YOU SEE FOOL??!"

Isard took a breath "No of course you don't see, I walked in on you twitching that little piece of Tatooine turnip your sad species calls genitalia, no doubt to her image. You're no different than Plumba or Pestage, if a pair of twits waves their hand in front of you and asks to jump you bow and ask the lady how high! Focus you dimwitted lunatic, focus for once! See the era she is creating over our bones!"

Raveem stared at her rant for over a minute with a baffled look on his face. Either he was feigning confusion or he was genuinely surprised by her suddenly breaking down. She couldn't tell. However, he had been planning to set her off from the beggining and his little show certaintly helped. He thought this would be entertaining, but he was bored out of his mind. Though, in the middle of that, he also found the whole situation funny, even if it isn't what he was expecting. As she finished, the Bothan burst out laughing. A cackle that echoed across the room as he walked back to his desk, holding his stomach as a cramp started to form by the mouth of his stomach. Hunched over, his laughter started to subside. The Bothan took a deep breath and straightened himself. Sighing he walked over behind his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a fresh white tunic from it.

"Somehow..." He began, as he unzipped the bloodstained ISB tunic and began to take it off, revealing a white sleveless shirt underneath. "I thought that you would be more... creative. Someone who truly 'knew, knew'. But now I realize that you are just painfully average." Putting on the tunic, he proceedes to slowly add his rank plaque and code cylinders. He was very meticulous about it. Ensuring that everything was correctly in place.
"I thought that your odd appearance would perhaps also include some out of the box thinking."

He paused, as he threw the bloodied tunic on the ground and fixed the one he was wearing now. "Something to complement it. Thought I admit..." Raveem sentences seemed unconnected and incoherent. Like he was rambling. But Isard should know better than to trust that. "You are rather amusing."
The Bothan never adressed her comments. Not even once.

"Does it hurt?" Raveem asked at the very end. Once again saying something totally unconnected from the rest of what he said earlier.

Again Director Isard remained leveled, gazing at the maniac that stood before her. The fact that he seriously began to undress before her, caused her heterochromatic eyes to narrow and her hand to reach again for her blaster. "What are you doing, you disgusting creature?!" She snapped "Are you even listening?! Do you think the female you're fawning over sees you as anything other than a beast of burden?! What do you think will come of the Empire with her sharing power?!" Again she came close to howling the last bit out only to stop herself and gawk in amazement when the Bothan asked her if it hurt.

"Hurt? Does what hurt fool?! What are you talking about?!" She blurted out, confused by the trajectory of the conversation.

"Killing your father." He said, his facial expression losing that manic look he had earlier. For a minute, the beast could have passed as normal. "I have it on good authority that... you killed him yourself." Raveem glanced down at his desk, neatly folding the bloodstained tunic before setting it down on top of the desk again. "Of course, he did send you off to your own death. But I am curious. Did you feel anything?"

Success... Raveem though as he looked at Isard up and down. He had more than broken her mask. The Bothan had shattered it, and was underneath was exactly what he had been expecting. Everything was going smoothly.

"wh.." Ysanne Isard's face lost all color as the full weight of the realization dawned on her. Vash'Ah indeed, she thought, those eyes, those mad eyes see everything don't they? Behind her, two service droids hastily entered and began to extract the corpses and Isard merely stood there in startled silence unable to fully comprehend how badly she'd underestimated him.

She stepped forward, out the window several speeders filled with freighter captains were taking off towards a party district, likely in celebration of the new contracts they'd just gotten from the Imperial Navy's office of logistics. "killing my father" She began stepping closer towards the Bothan "Was destiny, as a member of a prominent Bothan clan I'd assume you understand the weight of filial duty yes? My bloodline was in the wrong hands, it needed to be...liberated'

Isard turned and walked towards the window, deflated perhaps but no less filled with hatred. "You continue to avoid my questions Bothan, are you concerned? Are you afraid that pointing such powerful insights inward and toward your beloved religious leader will result in unpleasant answers to questions you dare not ask? hmm? Is that it?"

"Because you keep asking the wrong questions."
He said, his head slowly turning toward her again. With a measured deliberate pace, Raveem began to walk toward her. "I thought you would have figured it by now Director!" The Bothan exclaimed, throwing his hands to the sides "I'll just tell you. I was the one who brought her to that meeting. The one who enabled Invictus Janus to cleanse the Empire of the the corrupt and incompetent leadership." A wicked grin began to grow on his lips as he got closer and closer to Isard. "But I am beyond that kind ideological zealotry. It doesn't interest me. No... no... It was the unknown variable that Miryia Janus, was! It was an experiment. A gamble. Roll the dice and see the Galaxy plunged into chaos or be driven to order. And it paid off."

The way the Bothan stood side-by-side to the window, made the dim lights of the office obscure the side of his face. It made him look feral, ominous and to the faint of heart, terrifying. It looked unintentional, however. An accidental trick of the light marking an otherwise benign moment.

"I know why you're here." Said Raveem, as he got closer. "You are here because the others will not listen. Hissa, Carvin, Palleon, Grant..." The Bothan looked at Isard straight in the eyes as he uttered the last name. "Plumba. Ysanne Isard came to me because I am her last resort. The last person you would ever consider begging for help to stage your coup..."

A cold chill ran down the imperial intelligence director's spine, as the mad Bothan confessed his treason with a look of pure joy! Around him the shadows seemed to dance as he began to speak proudly of his grand quest for order from chaos by tossing a violently unstable variable into an already violent mess! The careless idiot could have destroyed the empire, no, he wasn't careless. In his perverse mind that probably would have been a good thing and slowly, humiliation, shame and a tiny bit of fear intermarried with her rage.

"You did this...you brought this down on us?" She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and reached up to dust at her shoulder, doing her best to remove some debris and bone matter from the fabric of her uniform. As she shadows continued to reveal the extent of his knowledge slowly shook her head. "The fat one" she muttered it with a curse, she would kill Plumba for this treachery.

"Paid off? Hah, I suppose you think so, but I must ask you Director Raveem" she emphasized the last bit, holding onto the ceremony of rank, the head of I.I still outranked the ISB chief if only on paper. "Can you honestly say, she won't decide that you're too wild, ungovernable and sinful live in her new era?" It was her last line of defense, a desperate plea and she knew very well it wouldn't be enough to sway him but if she could turn him to the path of suspicion just a little.

"You're so amusingly strange Director..." He said softly, his head turning to look out the window. Raveem turned completely to face the window, looking at Isard through the reflection. The Bothan stood there silent, looking at himself on the window with a blank look on his face.

"My father used to tell me, 'You don't have to turn people in your favor. Just sow enough dissent and suspicion to cause chaos in their lines.'" Raveem then turned to face Isard again, a big smile on his face. "Was it your instructor? Your father too, perhaps? It's a good strategy to use if you face a grunt or a politician. But in this instance... it only makes you look desperate."

He didn't have to adress the rest. Raveem was goal driven. Everything served a purpose. To the lighting of the room, to his body movements, to the tone of his voice. He knew Isard was too stupid to realize she had walked into a situation she couldn't control. That she was being guided toward something without her knowledge.

Isard slowly nodded her head at his estimation of the tactic she was using, the look on her face was someone thoroughly defeated yet filled with new resolve. She'd cornered him, humiliated her, reminded her of why he was the only non human to ever reach the position of ISB director.

The discussion about her father only served to dig deeper into the wound and fill her with a madness comparable that of her own enemies. -Alright then- Ysanne Isard began to head towards the exist of the Bothan's office before turning around and gazing into his eyes with a frenzied intensity. "You've succeeded in chastening me Director Vash'Ah, my compliments to you even my father never..evoked..such feelings in me...I promise you, one day, soon I'm going to visit them back on you by an order of...magnitude" The last part was hissed out venomously enough she looked like some crazed predator backed into a corner ready to chew its own leg off to escape. "I promise you that"

The doors opened, whether by her proximity or by the Bothans will, Isard couldn't tell but she'd felt small, like a little girl again before her father's harsh judgments. She felt weak, scared, she felt battered and she was going to skin him alive in a pain web for that, slowly with enough bacta and med droids nearby to ensure this damn thing endured the horror.

"Good day, ISB Director. History won't be able to say I didn't offer you a chance to turn back. History won't say anything about you at all when I'm done with you"

When Director Isard left his office, Vas'ah had his protocol droid seal the door to his office, darken the windows and dim the lights. Sitting down in his desk, he pressed a button and from the desk emerged the holographic bust of an Imperial ISB officer.

"Director Vas'ah." The hologram flickered as Major Oniye Namada stood at attention the moment she saw the Bothan.

"Report." Said Raveem, as a grin formed around the edges of his mouth. The Major would never get used to the Director-Generals eyes... or his general disposition. There was something off about it. Regardless of what she thought of the Bothan, Namada was loyal to the Empire and even more loyal to Vas'ah. He had worked hard to get to that position and issued a promotion to her the moment he became Director-General. The Bothan was seemingly the only one who recognized her talents. While others worked to undermine her work against corruption in the ranks, Raveem gave her more authority and oversight to combat it. For once, she thought, they had a leader who truly cared.

"All agents in Bothawui were killed-in-action, sir. According to Agent Gideon Hask who was in command, the operatives were intercepted by New Republic pilots. While they were successful in their retrieval of the chip, the interferance of the Rebels and subsequent intervention of Bothan security forces prevented proper retrieval." The Major sent a copy of the report she had compiled of the mission. The whole debacle in Bothawui was an embarassment, not only to Agent Hask but to her as well. However, she was ready to accept responsibility for her actions. Or more accurately, lack thereof. Giving the mission to Agent Hask was perhaps a mistake. Something to be rectified later.

"Sir. I accept full responsibility for-"

Raveem raised his hand as he continued to read the report on a datapad in his hand. "One moment, please..."
Major Namada sat there, waiting for the Bothan to finish. One thing she had learned while working for him over the past three years was that he was unpredictable. Nobody, not even the best agents in the Bureau could tell what the man was thinking or what he would do next. While many of the Directors who came beforehand followed protocol, Raveem was someone who thought outside the box. She couldn't recall a single instance where the Bothan actually did anything by the book. Every mission agents were assigned to seemed to have no rhyme or reason. Yet, somehow, they always yielded results.

"You didn't add this part about Senator Fey'lya being there as some sort of joke, right? Was he actually there?" Raveem asked, looking up to meet the Major's now confused gaze. "

"Yes, sir. All the information there is accurate. I went over every account three times." Replied the Major, shifting in her seat.

"And you are sure that he took the chip?" Raveem seemed to be getting more excited by the minute. She could see it in his eyes, the way his right ear twitched and his fur seemed to rise up. At least that, she could read.

"Y-yes." Had she missed something? Abruptly, the Bothan stood up from his chair tossing the datapad over his shoulder.
"Then, mission accomplished Major!" Raveem shouted with a big smile on his face. "You did well. Make sure to give Agent Hask my compliments.

"I don't understand..." Again, Namada was at a loss for words. Had he seen something that she had missed? Most likely. It seemed to be his specialty.

"You will, trust me." Raveem was about to run off without hanging up, before he returned into view again. "Oh, and don't forget to look into that other matter for me. I want to know where Zsinj's very special item ended up."

"Yes-" Before Namada could reply the Bothan ran off. "sir..." She finished off with a sigh. Perhaps Namada would never know how the Director "functioned". He was wild and spontaneous, yet somehow professional and incredibly intelligent. Perhaps it was best she never know.

Thus, the test of perseverance begins. With her knees down on the floor before the giant Coruscant castle, Shoma finally allows herself to let her guard down. She looked largely inflexible in her decision to follow her calling. Any remainders of faith she’s had were genuinely deposited upon whoever, or whatever, lived in that castle. And it… Seems to work? Whether it be by sensing the force or by sheer, refined intuition, the feeling that someone very special was watching her suddenly struck. But… It was rather ambiguous. Was it for the good? Or was it for the bad? Was it coming from the rather extravagant castle up ahead? She hoped these answers would come soon. Until then, Shoma was going to remain faithful and diligent into her investment. Underneath her blindfold, her eye muscles moved as if trying to close her non-existent eyes. A deep inhale was taken and held, exhaling after a few seconds of pause. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat.

And just like that, the female Miraluka’s mind seems to gradually lose it’s connection into the physical realm, slowly transcending into some form of deep meditation. It would certainly help her maintain her concentration and peace of mind throughout this whole ordeal, even in spite of all the pressure resting down on her shoulders. She could feel it. If she tried hard enough, she would be chosen! It’s what drove her forward through the days to come. The very day of her initiation seems to just fly by. With only whatever Gods and Deities that may exist out there knowing where the transpired time could have gone.

The second day, however, was not as merciful and uneventful. Breaking through the peace of her meditation and prayer trance, Shoma suddenly felt an enormous pressure reaching in through her psyche as the imponent, mysterious and somewhat fascinating gaze of the purple-eyed serpent befell upon her being for a second time. She was shaken into the core as it occurred, feeling the heart bestowed in between her lungs pound into her ribcage almost as if there was a wrecking ball inside, which would stop at nothing until it battered her sternum to pieces. There was no doubt in her mind that something out there was noticing her. And that something was… ‘Majestic and Glorious’. Those were the two adjectives Shoma could associate to the currently unidentified presence. But the latter part would change after another twenty-four hours transpired.

There she was. These purple irises… The unmistakable cold stare that looked like it could freeze hell over a thousand times… The boost they imposed on the poor cripple’s heart beats… Once again, her successful attempt at a meditation trance was intercepted. The concentration that managed to endure the torrential rain responsible for soaking her already pretty baggy hooded coat was broken pretty quickly by Shoma’s own desire to see what was this all about. The blind found her answer by raising her chin, something that she dared not do for two days, and her blindfolded and covered eye sockets went upwards to meet the frightening, yet enticing gaze. There she was, the silver-haired Arkanian whose tall figure instantly earned the Miraluka’s respect and admiration. The most insightful gaze could not tell whether or not Shoma’s resolve and willpower was fading away throughout her ordeal, but if it was, it was certainly completely revitalized as her force sight caught this glimpse of Miryia.

Shoma felt renewed as the soaked hood fell from the top of her head and into the back of her neck in rather ungraceful manner, weighed down by the water incorporated into the fabric of her coat. Her attentive, force gaze reached deep into the judgmental purple gaze of the woman she instantly learned to admire and respect. Miryia’s demand of proof was received and taken into heart, and the blind slowly lowered her chin back down, setting her eye sockets directed back into the ground and still appearing physically unshaken by the intensified rain, the winds that now complemented the artificial storm with it’s soft yet refreshing howl, and the thunder that vehemently smited existence below the sky and the passing clouds.

After a while, she could no longer concentrate on her meditation, or pretty much anything else. Shoma’s stomach growled into her ears, starting to demand the food it was deprived of for about four days now. Her entire composure was growing frail, judging by how she was clearly struggling to remain on her knees without tumbling to the side. Also, from having her knees down against the floor for so long, her caps were also hurting for a while now. She didn’t notice due to her ability to remove the focus from the pain. But now, as she couldn’t concentrate out of the pain, she was starting to truly feel it. Despite the adversities brought about by pain, starvation and dehydration, her determination remained untainted. She was still there, willing to see this through into the end like a true persevering warrior. Unable to sleep, stand, move properly or meditate, to Shoma it looked like the day would have taken an eternity to pass by. And it made her especially unnerved, wishing the day was over with.

Shoma had made it through the eternal day. The corner of her force vision could already pick up on the speckles of sunlight that managed to break through the stormy, heavy clouds of the palace. She made it through one day but… For how much longer could she go on? Shoma herself had no answer whatsoever to such a question. It wasn’t so much the pressure brought into her shoulders by the mistress of the palace, nor was it lack of perseverance. The starvation and dehydration were finally starting to get into the armless woman’s head. How could she possibly change her life for the better if she ended up slowly dropping dead right here? No wonder it came as a total relief into her mind and soul when the respect imposing, silver haired Miryia finally seems to have seen enough, and came walking down the stairs to grace Shoma with her presence. A grace that was more than happily accepted.

She heard Miryia’s voice as her chin went upward, moving her force sight upwards into these purple irises one more time. The words provided by Miryia’s speech were quick to be accepted into the aspiring Jedi’s heart. And they were going to stick around it for the years to come.

‘Would you like to see again?’

This presentation was the final push Shoma needed to seal the deal for the rest of her life. She was either far too weakened by the food and water deprivation or grew too shy before this Arkanian. Her lips opened a little and looked like they were ready to produce speech, but no words could come out. Instead, Shoma replied positively to the question with a nod, mirroring their very rare smile with one of her own. To stand up from the kneeling position was an entirely new ordeal. Her leg strength, despite being considered much greater than that of a normal Miraluka, was failing her as a consequence of the fasting. Yet again, she managed to draw upon sheer willpower and determination to ascend, and make her way up by striding along the staircase with slow, short steps. Now was not the time to show any sort of weakness. Not when she was a mere few steps away from obtaining the acknowledgement she craved so hard for in these five days.

A few final thoughts and a final glance over the left shoulder went towards the people who apparently gathered all around, inspired by Shoma herself. It was such a shame that quite a few could not endure to the end to deserve such a once in a lifetime opportunity. She wished she could thank them from the bottom of her heart and incentivize them to persevere, but still, nothing came from within her dried mouth and throat. She could only hope… But was it enough?

Maybe such a doubt would be clarified soon… But until then, it was best to concentrate on the here and now. Shoma gladly followed what she thought of as her new idol up ahead, deeper into the castle, fully willing to be her follower and seeking to find out just… What was it about this woman that imposes such a great level of respect in so little time.

@TheWatchDog

Yavin IV: Jedi Temple

Hunter, schemer, Teacher, Killer

@Lotrix Molick

As she began to speak, security shuffled away nodding in cautious obedience to Skywalker who turned towards the Farghul listening to her answers. When she began to speak about what the Jensaarai were, he raised an eyebrow in fascination. "Not so confused after all I suppose, though I wonder how many more force using cults are out there." There was the woman on Coruscant, he knew about a cult that called itself the disciples of Ragnos, they seemed to serve Jerec who was hellbent on proclaiming himself a Dark Lord of the Sith, but with the Sith extinct and much of their knowledge seemingly destroyed, he had to wonder exactly what Jerec's new order would become. He'd heard rumors of a bunch of monks from a species of armored weasels who viewed the force like a rainbow and possessed the ability to teleport by bending space around themselves. Even a cult of eccentric gemstones incase in armor that fought and served like Jedi and all Luke could do was listen like an enthusiastic child, all these different disciplines. As she continued to speak he wanted to interrupt, to ask about the other Jedi she said she'd met as he had been told he was the last living Jedi. Although, the more Luke thought about it the more he believed that was Yoda speaking from his perception of what it meant to be a Jedi, or perhaps the senility of his final moments of life.

Then Luke realized Farghuls who weren't enhanced by the force could live a little over two centuries and that the force tended to nearly double the lifespans of the sentients that wielded it and the woman who stood before him could very well be as old as the Jensaarai sect was (which would put her in her seventies), perhaps that meant the Jedi she spoke of were long dead? "Funny how the Jedi preached that about aggression but they fought in a Galaxy spanning war before the end" Mara muttered, there was a lot about the old Order to admire, even she could see that. But that didn't mean they weren't phenomenal hypocrites ninety percent of the time. Jade had remained skeptical, since the other two idiots were gawking at her story like a bunch of academy graduates listening to a veteran tell war stories or like wide eyed children hearing a fable.

It had been when she spoke of her childhood that the redhead softened a bit, slaves didn't remember nothing. Either she was lying, had repressed the memories or, she was lucky? Part of Jade's psyche envied her that. The things Palpatine had done to her in the service of advancing her "knowledge" were, things she wished she could forget.

Around them, the lighting began to shift as the sun light of the gas giant's star began to dim. Ancient holograms began to spring to life all around them, some depicting great Jedi, others depicting ancient beings with feral eyes and bright red skin. Soon, the bustle of Republic troopers and servicemen would die down and the sounds of the jungle moon would flow into the temple filling it with a chorus of the wild.

"The Disciples of Twilight fascinate me, you fight for the little guy but shun anything on a large scale if my information is correct." That had been what confused Kenth the most about her. For her to come here, to seek out Yavin, for whatever was happening and had been happening to be so profound as to draw out one of those vigilantes? Vigilantes, he thought...Right..Something needed to be set straight then. "You can't just go about butchering every idiot in power whose character it would improve" Hamner muttered, a look of vehemence in his eyes that suggested he'd oppose any wetworks she tried to do in that area. Luke turned his head towards the merchant Jedi with a wry sgrin "By that logic my father shouldn't have thrown the Emperor down that reactor shaft?"

"No" Mara shook her head "That's different, the Emperor was insane, he had to be destroyed, he was a threat to all life"

"and it still splintered the galaxy into a million pieces" Hamner added his scratchy voice taking a dim, smoky, somewhat grim tone. "Still, there are times when the Galaxy would better off with one less malcontent in power. I can't fault the disciples for doing that on a small scale, on a moon or a planet or an asteroid it probably changes everything for the better.."

"All the same" Luke offered "While with us, please refrain from assassinating leaders unless we've no other choice. The last thing the Galaxy needs right now is for more power vacuums to form"

"Hey, caty lady wanna come with me to Coruscant?" Mara asked, her eyes flashing with a mix of humor and mischief "we'll have some fun, hit up a few gaming houses, maybe throw a crazy person down a flight of stairs?" Mara let out a laugh when she saw the look on Luke's face "oh come on! It's not an assassination it's gravity!"

"Right..well" Skywalker turned back to the woman and reached out a hand "We haven't asked for your name in all this mess and I apologize for that. Knight of many orders, what do you call yourself? And, I would welcome you to the Jedi temple but it seems like you've always been here. So, more, I'm sorry for not inquiring sooner"

Hamner reached up to rub his shoulder, the more he thought about it. The more sense it made to have her here, the more he felt the force twist and scream over whatever happened on Coruscant....The more he realized Luke was right. While they had to build their own force tradition slowly, they needed help and they needed a deeper reservoir than before.

Making a pair of blaster pistols appear on his manipulators as if by magic, Highsinger lays down a withering barrage of bolts at the scattering group of thugs. Although fully aware that from where he was shooting, the blasters would be little more than a light show; the halfwits below however were not and still dashed towards cover, giving the assassin droid the time to get down street level by jumping off, seemingly straight to the scrapheap in Phasma's eyes, but to Aladar's heightened senses, she could take note of the droid using a liquid-cable grapnel on the ledge to slow his rapid descent. Taking a little less than 5 seconds to return to ground level, Highsinger then shows just how deadly his blasters were in optimal range, blowing the heads off of a pair of thugs who had tried to take potshots at him as he made landfall before darting right behind a parked landspeeder, fast enough to seem little more than an abrupt grayish-gold blur before the eyes of his foes as he outran the blaster bolts sent towards him, his speed putting even the likes of force-sensitives to shame.

The thugs scattered, firing blindly and desperately at the killing machine as it continued to cut them down with pitiless efficiency. Whatever attempt at rallying the rest of the scum by the one with the loudest voice and the biggest gun did little good, too many of them were dying too quickly; one man choked on the ashes that was once his windpipe after a blaster bolt glanced off his armor and straight into his neck, a Klatooinian, probably high on stimm-spice got his leg severed from the knee after foolishly trying to charge into close combat with the gunslinging droid, utterly heedless of his injury, the reptilian still attempted to fire back even as he bled out on the street, another criminal had half his face blown off, in a twist of cruel irony his helmet had "saved" him from an instantaneous death towards a slow one, his screams of agony almost drowning out the roar of his partner's heavy blaster rifle pulverizing the landspeeder the droid had been hiding behind a split-second earlier before turning the gunner into a bonfire by sending a bolt straight down his rifle's barrel, destroying the weapon in a fiery conflagration rather than a blast powerful enough to turn him into a fine mist, the mishap no doubt due to the blaster gas being fouled by impurities. The immolated thug proceeded to cause further chaos as he ran right towards his comrades, begging them to put him out; to which they mercifully answer by reducing his upper body into a cloud of ash and embers with a volley of panicked blasterfire. Soon enough their initial confidence gave way to terror and disarray as they started to fall back into an alleyway, leaving their wounded behind, including a sniveling Rodian praying fearfully to a god that would never come, so lost was he in despair that he was oblivious to the world around him. Another bellowed out a war cry, half-mad, half terrified as he dashed out of cover in an attempt to get a clear shot at Highsinger, only to be unceremoniously shot dead.

As soon as the felinoid was thrown off the rooftop, the apprentice reached out and a set hand on Phasma's shoulder slowly shaking her head. The action was going to have to be Highsinger's alone "The riot we started will spill out into this area soon enough, we'll need to hang back and run interference" Something told her, that their participation wasn't quite necessary any way. Her eyes remained narrowed, calling on the force to amplify her senses in time to feel the life of yet another thug get snuffed out, this one's entire torso simply vanished when Highsinger made use of a heavy blaster from a Thug he quite literally disarmed and then turned the weapon loose on their friends. One of her hands idly twitched at her lightsaber as her blood began to boil, which was a feeling she hadn't known in a long time.

That smell of burnt plasteel and blood, even as an inquisitor she hadn't felt the call to combat. It had only been as a Jedi, when she was convinced she was on the "right" side. "Watch him, learn" she added to Phasma "I'll wager that you have never participated in municipal combat as part of a planetary invasion. I haven't in twenty years, its good for us to see what it's like" she recalled some of it, during the outer rim sieges. Even an eleven year old apprentice was expected to participate in battle, they were exhausting. "It can be like this for sometimes a month, its not the physical exhaustion that breaks you, it's the mental fatigue. I have a feeling, we'll all fight like this soon, with our backs to each other. You and I, we're different from our patrons, they were born to lead. We were born to fight and we're blessed that they'll bleed beside us but our job is not to let them, its to do this so they can ensure its done to a hundred other planets."

Beside the terrified Rodian, a Felecatian rushed out of the rubble of a burning speeder, its fur singed, its body shifting into the immense saber form. "LAZY WHORES, KRIFFING SLUGS, YOU CASTRATED WOOKIES, STAND UP, STAND UP AND FIGHT FOR THE BOSS"

The enormous spiked tiger charged towards Highsinger as he popped out of a garbage bin he had used as cover, his completely mad dash a mix of panic-induced madness and an obstinate desire to die on his feet, managing to rally several of the Chiss' thugs into a "glorious" charge. But the ground seemingly gave way beneath one of his enormous paws, whether compelled to by the force from the Apprentice or rotten luck. The beast let out a grunt, something snapped as the bones in its paw shattered and it was "carried" forward by its own momentum, planting violently into the ground and sliding for a few feet then coming to a stop before the feet of Highsinger.

"I never liked felines."

Just as the beast was about to snap at the killer in one final show of defiance, the droid's foot comes down on its face harder and faster than a meteorite; caving it in a shower of bone, teeth, blood and brain matter.

That was enough, everyone cut and ran, dropping their weapons and tearing their armor off; it would only weigh them down.

All save the quivering Rodian who tried to make himself as small as possible hiding among the dead, as more joined them, collapsing from bolts to the back. At first, he thought himself at last safe, beneath notice. That is until...

"I can hear your heartbeat."

And then that gods-awful clanking got closer and closer...

As the massacre took place, their employer was given live coverage as he listened to the terrified and pained cries of his men through their commlinks, the moment the line went dead with static, the Chiss threw his comm across the floor of his safe room in rage before he began to relentlessly circle around, absently placing a hand on one of his blasters as he thought of how he'll get out of his predicament. The bodyguards that were with him had listened to the screams echoing from the comm with visible trepidation, with Jouren glaring daggers as one of them began to whimper.

@TheWatchDog

Tasaia once again gave Luke's hand a shake. She picked up on an air of skepticism around Jade, as expected. Her story was odd at best for the common narrative. "Master Jade, I agree that the old Jedi were very...contradictory about their views and actions. Let us be better than them. And to you, Grand Master Skywalker, please use my title of Defender. I would prefer not to forget the memories of and to memorialize the actions of my mother. You may call me Defender Straka or Defender Tasaia. The former is my surname, the latter my given name. I received both from my mother, Defender Kiara Straka." She let go of Luke's hand and gave a cute curtsy.

She then turned to her other company. "As a group, the Disciples tend to avoid large scale involvement. Individuals are free to decide as they desire for the good of the people. Large scale efforts tend to revolve around large areas of control under a tyrant or galaxy scale dangers." His comment on assassinations was not without warrant, but it deserved some clarification. Perhaps Jade would be her best ally given their experience as assassins. "I do not assassinate lightly. It is the last course of action in my work. If I cannot change them diplomatically or depose them politically, then I will consider violence. Once I decide assassination is my last resort, I will carry it out surgically and end the tyrant as painlessly as possible. Our desires for tyrant removal seems to be relatively in line."

She let out a purring hmmm as Luke talked about her being there already. "Indeed. I was here a few years ago. Three years of time have passed since my crash landing here. I have gotten my ship repaired and even slightly improved. Of course, the first thing I got working was my sanisteam. A girl has to keep her already soft fur sleek and softer."

Following the seriousness of the previous conversation, Jade opened up a bit and got witty with the Farghul. In response, Tasaia grinned before getting close to the taller woman and pretending to scrutinize Jade. Seemingly satisfied, Tasaia was witty right back, thinking a bit of sultry tones would go well. "Hmmm, as fun as gambling can be, I think a certain redhead would be more fun sat across a Dejarik table, maybe with some strip rules."

Yavin IV: Comedic Intrusions
@Jollan

The unlikely duo might have been forgiven for their shock at the lack of acknowledgment of their hail, had they not also mistaken dozens of orbital defense platforms, space stations and docks coupled with weather control sats and a hundred other pieces of debris or tech in space that shimmered against the rust crimson of the jungle moons immense gas giant for empty space. Within a moment, alarms had gone off all around the entire system. It was made all the worse by the fact that they came out of hyperspace so close to a freighter that it almost looked like an attempt at a suicide charge on the planet itself by some New Order fanatic. Soon enough a dozen sector patrols were speeding towards the gas giant and soon enough a warning shot streaked out in the dark as bright blue plasma from the medium turbo laser battery of a Recusant class Mon Calamari cruiser, it was a warning shot that preceded the large shadow of the vessel looming over the pairs craft.

At last com channels were open and the voice of an irate Mon Calamari passed over the vessel and a rather startled Fishman's face appeared as the pair finally caught an answer. "Dampeners?" the Fishman shouted, a look of utter bewilderment over his face as he observed the crew of the Nexu. Was he talking about inertial dampeners?! The maniacs?! How were they not a very fine red mist plastered all over the interior of the vessel? For that matter, how was the Nexu still flying, most vessels would just come apart if their AG or ID's failed. "Moron! you came out of hyperspace right on top of our defense system! This is the Republic Capital world not some vacation world! You're lucky our defensive systems didn't tear you all apart!"

He'd been given orders to treat them as hostile, but the goofy looks on their faces made him think they were less a threat to planetary security and the New Republic and more just really awkward but well meaning denizens of the galaxy on their way to something greater. Especially given how close they came out of hyperspace near two gravity wells. No one trying up to no good would be that cavalier about the chances of failing their mission due to planetary drag. "I am Captain Argus, my ship is called Krayt, for your own sake, the next time you come through here, please remember to exit Hyperspace at least a million klicks from the Gas giant or its moon...And come in slow" The Mon Cal let out a relieved sigh, with everything happening in the Galaxy right now.

"Alright then, Nexu, state your business and intentions and I'll, see about getting you escorted to a civilian space port and not a military one."