These Shattered Stars -- Logs

It is a couple of hours later. Dinner is finished, and Zero, Roakkana, and Vakkal have departed or gone to bed to prepare for the following day, which is when they are due to claim ownership of the courier the Order has subsidized for them. Freyja and Fhazil are in the common room.

Freyja leans back in her chair, relaxedly sipping her drink and considering travel details... and Sith. Every once in a while she vaguely misses some of the fine after-dinner wines her mother is fond of... she wouldn't mind one now, she idly thinks. A touch of something sweet and smoky and rich purring down the throat would be lovely... she sighs quietly and smiles a bit tiredly, her gaze turning to the Sith appre- neh, he's a journeyman now. She should remember that. "So... congratulations again on your... elevation to journeyman. Do you feel any different?"

Fhazil thinks for a moment, then smiles and shakes his head. "Not too different, really. I mean... aside from my hair and eyes, nothing else seems to have changed. I imagine it's not really unlike Jedi knight trials -- they're tests of what you should already be capable of."

Freyja nods quietly, her ice blue eyes as far away as her thoughts. She murmurs, seemingly idly, "The Sith lord Ghang must have been proud of you...?"

He nods a little, tilting his head as he studies Freyja. "He was, yes. He was glad I passed." He smiles a little. "As they once said on Corellia, 'a penny for your thoughts?'"

Freyja says, "Mm... just wondering. How is the Sith lord handling losing two apprentices... to what must seem like Jedi meddling?" Her frosty gaze focuses on Fhazil, and she adds almost gently, "And, more to the point... I thought it might be courteous to ask you in private if you had to make any... difficult promises to him, in order to leave?"

He shakes his head. "He didn't take it well, as I said. It took a lot of convincing. But for what it's worth, he believes that what we're up to is something the Oath of Fire would not want to see." He grins. "And he's curious. The only promise I had to make was that I would go back to him someday, if only for a short time... even if it meant going to Korriban."

Freyja relaxes slightly, almost unnoticeably, and her smile warms, becoming more genuine. "Truly? I'm glad to hear that. I..." she sighs, her smile getting a touch rueful, "-well... you and Vakkal both taught me to be wary of Sith lords' promises -- that they interpret them strictly to the word... not the spirit of the agreement."

She considers for a moment, taking another sip of her tea, then curiously asks, "So... are the rumors true? Is the Dark lord getting married, or was it a call-back for a new battle plan?" She pauses, then says a little awkwardly, "I... am sorry you were pulled away from that. I imagine you were looking forward to it...?"

Fhazil nods, his smile slight. "I know. For most Lords it's good to be cautious about what one promises. In this case, with Lord Ghang, I'm comfortable making it. So long as I stay out of the public eye, and the Shadowguard doesn't discover that I'm... I don't know, staying at the Jedi Temple or somesuch -- then there won't be any problems. Lord Ghang said he can handle any inquiries by the Moot."

He grins a little at Freyja's query. "You mean to Fan Nuit? I'm honestly not sure. They have been courting, or whatever the purebloods do for courting, apparently for the better part of six months. The call-back was for a bunch of reasons; partly to re-evaluate the plans, but also to deal with the Oath of Fire. It's as I thought would happen. Naga Sadow didn't like their interference in the war and declared them traitors. They'll have been crippled, but not completely eliminated."

Freyja nods slowly, considering, then says thoughtfully, "Out of the public eye... we'll have to be careful, then, if we ever stop at Balmorra again." She sips her tea once more, idly wondering if the Dark lord actually likes the Fan Nuit or not... at least he got to meet her first. She sighs and shrugs mentally -- the political machinations of the Sith lords are none of her business, she supposes. Idly she murmurs, "Vakkal said you seemed shocked at my betrothal... why was that, if I may ask?"

Fhazil makes a quiet sound, shifting in his seat a little. "It was... a surprise, that's all," he says quietly. "I'm Corellian by birth, and betrothals only happened there when the culture was more feudal, which hasn't been for many thousands of years. Even in the Sith empire, there's no betrothal per se, at least not in the same way Alderaan -- or Balmorra, I guess -- have it. It... just was startling to me, because I didn't expect it to happen to you, and... well, I honestly wondered then, when I heard it, what that would mean for someone who had... fallen for you."

Freyja tilts her head and smiles, "You weren't familiar with the associated cultural rituals of paramours on Balmorra, then?" A moment later she blinks curiously at a startling, "Whoa! Are you saying the Sith actually love their partners in marriage?!"

Freyja considers silently for several moments. Well, well, well... who would have thought? She's not sure why she feels faintly disappointed at hearing that... then realizes the reason with a bleak smile. In marriages where the partners must shoulder the impossibly huge burden of being all things to each other -- lover, confidant, muse, adviser, bodyguard, business partner, producer of offspring, manager of family affairs, and goddess knows what else as well -- no person with half a brain will allow any other person of their gender near their partner, for fear of being replaced. Being replaced in even one category by someone of the same gender would be dangerous, after all... and that means, Freyja quietly realizes, that she's going to have to give up on her dream of someday getting to converse thoughtfully with a Sith lord... or (although she hardly dares admit the thought to herself due to its sheer impossibility) the Serpent of Shadows himself. She sighs quietly, and goes back to sipping her drink.

Fhazil blinks, then shakes his head. "Er... no, I wasn't, actually," he says, a little embarrassed. "In fact, to be honest, while I knew Balmorra had a sort of aristocracy I didn't really know all that many details about it."

"As for the Sith loving their partners... I... don't really think that can be said. Upon becoming journeymen, an adept of the Sith tradition -- and I've never met a pureblood who wasn't -- is their own person. They may serve under a Lord's banner, but they are an independent person in their own right. I suppose that marriages between Lords are more like mutual alliances and mergers of estates than marriages based off of love; establishments of power bases. There's nothing like dynastic lines, though. Lords who marry don't consolidate their portfolios, and their successor for each one's particular titles needs to be ratified by the Lord's superior. But a marriage is a really close alliance, whether based off of love or respect or an eagerness for power and a willingness to share it."

Freyja blinks again, confused, "Er... are you saying they are disinherited? How horrible for the poor things! Don't..." The sheer barbarity of that makes it hard for her to verbalize -- she can barely imagine it, "-don't their families care about them any more?!"

"Uh... no, they're not disinherited. They are their own person. The journeyman is either retained by the Lord who trained him, or taken into the service of another Lord. Certain heirlooms are theirs by right of birth, I suppose, but the titles... if you really want to get technical, I guess a Lord's titles aren't their own. a Lord is custodian of the titles they are given, and holds them until someone who is better able to hold those titles comes along."

"This is one of the differences of Sith culture and Republic. In the Empire, the journeyman has an unequaled chance to make a name for themselves, to rise to heights of power and ability, to gain an unimpeachable and unsurpassed reputation. How could the family impose itself upon them, tie them down, make demands upon them?

"Of course, in most Lords' families, there will be children who do not have the ability to be awakened to the Force. While they can't gain great levels of power in the Hierarchy or the Empire, they are compensated; they become the seneschals and majordomos of estates. There will always be a need for talented, well-educated people who aren't Force-awakened, in every estate.

"I suppose another reason is protection, for both the family and the journeyman. If the journeyman, or someone else from that family, does something incredibly wrong and disgraces themselves, then the rest won't be punished for it. And I wouldn't call them 'poor things,' really. The typical journeyman has already accomplished much in the Sith tradition. They're more than capable of being their own person, and making a name for themselves. In fact, they're eager to."

Freyja looks thoughtful, "So... this really is a feudal system, then? Is that why you took such care with your cameo -- it has personal meaning for you?" She looks curious, "Why do you think family ties you down? Where I come from family is what helps you to rise above the circumstances of your birth -- people work together to help each other." She pauses, then says slowly, "Neh, I'm misunderstanding again, aren't I... the Sith are utterly dependent only upon themselves, because they think only of themselves, hai?" She smiles ruefully, "I wonder how the non-Force-awakened feel... 'compensated.' How... patronizing that sounds."

She grins almost mischievously at Fhazil, "So... does my planet's culture sound as... quaintly primitive and stifling to you, as the Sith culture is sounding to me?"

Fhazil sighs and shrugs a little. "What can I say? We don't think only for ourselves; Shen Ravos would have an impossible time trying to fight the war. And I wouldn't be calling Vakkal 'Brother.' Maybe that's the impression given by the way we're trained in the Force, though."

"As for the non-Force-awakened... believe me, in the Empire, just like in the Republic, majordomos and seneschals are entrusted with more power than most people understand. Trust me, a Lord who patronizes his seneschal soon finds that out!"

Freyja grins and changes the subject, not wanting to make Fhazil uncomfortable. Some time later, their drinks finished, she heads off to bed, and curls up warmly and contentedly with Vakkal.

Zero, for his part, can't sleep. He never sleeps well on board ship... something about the perpetual twilight of the bridge lit only by instrumentation, or the background hum of the engines... maybe just the sense of travel itself subconsciously keeps him on his guard, as if he should be ready for something to happen. For hours he haunts the bridge, reads, or tries to exercise. For a long time he manages to become engrossed in a training toy Roakkana gave him months ago, running a ball endlessly through a pyramidal maze with just force of will, until he can almost do the course with his eyes closed. This seems to help, and some time in the wee hours he puts the little toy away and heads back down the corridor to the quarters.

Zero finds the room mostly taken up with bodies. He edges along one wall, silently moving around the sleepers, and finds a corner someplace out of the way to sit down. He stretches out by himself, setting his overcoat next to him, next to his shoes. Old force of habit -- he'll be ready... just in case something might happen.

Aside from a flick of Vakkal's ear registering Zero's presence, the two sleepers don't awaken. It's only much later, when Zero himself has relaxed enough in sleep to lean against her, that Freyja's awakened by his presence. She yawns sleepily, taking casual note of what woke her. Poor Zero... so tense and twitchy all the time when he's awake... no wonder he sleeps so profoundly! She smiles quietly, gently brushing his hair back from his face, then wraps an arm around him and drifts peacefully back off to sleep.

The next day the change of title is finalized for the as-yet unnamed ship, and the quiet Alderaanian merchant leaves it fully in the care of Master Roakkana and the others. There is not much else, certainly, as it lies in the landing pit of Murno Down. Freyja grins excitedly, staring down at it, "Ours now? Can we board and check her out?"

Zero folds his arms, nodding appraisingly at the new ship. "Straight from the drive yards. Looks good! We should have a look around; get to know her."

Freyja grins and nods at Zero's comment, heading cheerfully down towards the ship, "Hai, let's!"

Zero spends a bit of time wandering around the exterior, examining the movable hull plating and the aerodynamic lines of the ship. "Hoersch-Kessel does good work. This should be quite sturdy. Should handle well in atmosphere, too. That'll be useful if we plan to take it to a gas giant..."

Roakkana nods, "I would say so. Come, let us examine our new home...."

The ship is a standard courier, of a style often used by smaller Jedi companies and masters with several Padawans, although not exclusively so. At the bow is the bridge module, a simple four-person cockpit, though it could be conceivably flown by one person in a pinch. While it does not have an astrogational computer, a very good astrogator can calculate a suitable course, or hyperspace routes can be purchased from local brokers.

Behind the bridge is a commons which triples as a galley, mess room, and training room, then a number of cabins, four in all. Behind them is a modest cargo hold; the ship is not intended to carry out speculative trading runs but does have enough space to carry a few largish, unusual items which a Jedi might pick up. The ship is relatively sleek, able to enter and exit atmosphere. The lower spars and wings collapse neatly against the body of the ship, allowing the craft to land.

Zero nods, "She's tight. I like it already." He grins at the cockpit, already in his mind going over possible modifications and improvements.

Freyja is wandering happily through the cabins and commons. She peeks out of one of them with a bit of consternation, "Hey, they look all about the same size... but there's only four, and there's not a Wookiee-sized one!"

Zero says, "We couldn't get a customized one straight from Hoersch-Kessel. They only make them, won't take custom orders. This is the standard configuration. Believe me, I wish they did. I would've asked for a navcom. It's all right though. We can always modify her later."

Roakkana chuckles, "Oh, I've had a bunk installed in the cargo bay when I've been aboard one of these. My people are amongst the largest in the Galaxy, and finding a ship that had cabins which were designed for me would push the price into the 'luxury' category. I will be perfectly fine, however; as I said, a bunk in the cargo bay will do me very well." He looks around, and adds dryly, "It's not like the decor is any different in the bay than elsewhere...."

Freyja gives the Jedi Master a faintly worried look, but simply says, "All right, if you're happy with that. We can install it before leaving, then." She studies one of the rooms for a moment, then adds thoughtfully, "I think I want a bigger bed too. There's no way we can dog-pile on this narrow thing!"

Roakkana nods, grinning. "Oh, I am. Besides, I'm getting the better part of it; the bay is larger than the cabins by a significant margin!"

Freyja giggles over her shoulder at the Wookiee, reassured. She pokes her head into the 'fresher room between the commons and the cabins, and her voice trails out behind her, "Well, wolf-feathers... no shower?" She straightens, her tone rueful, "Foo... I like running water. Always sounds and feels so nice. Ah, well... the sonic shower will do. I guess a water one is a bit of a luxury."

Zero carefully stows the hard cases for his weapons in his room, and goes about using the small work table to set up a small workbench, setting out the repair kit and such. He stows the rest of his gear, and looks around approvingly. Place to work, place to sleep. Excellent. He walks back out into the commons area. "It's murder keeping running water on board ship. Too hard to recycle it and keep it fresh. And believe me, a bilge leak in a ship this size would be horrendous."

Freyja nods amusedly, "Oh, I know. I just got used to it on family ships because Mother's inordinately fond of them." She happily tosses her duffel on the narrow bed in one cabin, then almost skips out, "So, customization time, hai? Let's get to it!"

Zero says, "I can imagine. This is actually a much nicer craft than I'm used to. A lot better than my old vagrant days."

The spaceport ship-fitter is contacted later and given a shopping list of alterations requested. He makes appropriate arrangements, and he and his team visits the ship a few times over the course of four days. Both Fhazil and Vakkal are also used to long trips in even smaller ships; they spend most of the time helping to fit the ship and to prepare it for its first cruise. Freyja will make sure Master Roakkana's sleeping spot is nice, then re-do her room so it's mostly bed and one small storage area. She doesn't really care that much about material goods, after all.

Zero wasn't able to acquire a proper navcom... the price tag made him turn a shade paler than normal. Regardless, the rudimentary computer installed in the cockpit will save most of the tedious calculation and can at least remember calculated routes, and so he's content with that. He spends some time while other parts of the ship are being refitted working with it, and trying to get some of the most well-known routes laid in beforehand.

Watching Zero and Fhazil working with the new computer, Freyja idly comments at one point, "Wish we could install one of those new ship-hiding shields..."

Zero says, "A cloaking device? Heh... I wish. That'd make our trip a lot safer. It'd also probably cost about four times what this entire ship did."

Freyja grins at Zero, "If we could even convince a Sith to sell it to us! Odds on it's a huge military secret still."

Zero says, "I bet Staster knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. He's good like that."

Freyja shakes her head quietly, "I'd be surprised. Military secrets usually take a bit longer than that to trickle down. I'm still stunned -- and worried -- at how efficient those droids chasing Fhazil were." She looks and sounds very unhappy about that.

Zero says, "I'll have a look at them on the bench later, when I have time. What I was able to grab before the sirens came, at least. In the meantime, we should probably post a watch tonight." Freyja nods silently, her gaze still very troubled.

After the ship fitter has finished his work, the group departs Commenor posthaste. There is nothing remaining to do here, and Roakkana feels it would be best to get to Gyndine as soon as possible. The preparations the group should make before setting out fully on their journey can be conducted just as easily, if not more easily, on the quiet, pastoral world that has been a traditional Jedi hermitage for thousands of years. During the journey to Gyndine, Freyja spends quite a bit of time meditating, working on making her ability to mentally 'touch' Fhazil come as easily as touching Zero and Vakkal is for her now.

Two weeks have passed since departing Commenor. The small courier has landed at the rather backwater world of Gyndine. It is off the usual trade routes, but close enough to the trade route known as the Hydian Way to have some access to the HoloNet. Itinerant masters who wish a quiet place to teach their Padawans often use it, and so the world is littered with small communities and equally small locales. There is no central register of who is where. A small Jedi-aligned mission (not operated by Jedi proper but given modest funds by the Order) is available at the lone spaceport for special requests, and keeps tabs on the various masters who are in residence on the planet to ensure nothing untoward happens to them. Because Gyndine is so relatively open, less-well-learned smugglers and outlaws also frequent it. However, when they learn a significant minority of the planet's population consists of Jedi Knights and Masters, they usually do not return.

Freyja is conducting meditations after a few sparring sessions with Zero, Vakkal, and Fhazil, and some instruction from Roakkana. For her, recently, meditation has been mostly consideration of the issue and nature of Darkside Force use. Why can't Vakkal heal others? Is it psychosomatic? Can he heal himself? How can she shield her friends from the nausea associated with Sithstain, should they ever meet a Sith lord? Perhaps most importantly, how can she teach herself to spread calming 'Lightstain,' the same way Sithstain nauseates?

There are no immediate answers to Freyja's questions, although there are at least answers for what ails Vakkal. As for her questions regarding Sithstain, there has been a great body of research into it since the war began. It will take some searching on her part, though, since the Jedi of the Republic have not been able to seriously study it first hand... at least, not outside of fights and such with their enemies. Freyja downloads everything she can on the subject, as long as she has Master Roakkana's permission to do so, so she can study it more in depth on the long trip to Zhar.

Gyndine is ancient, steeped in the Force. There can really only be guesses as to how many masters have trained their Padawans there. It has been in use since the early days of the Order proper, even before the Heresy Wars. It is well known to the Order, and so the archaeologists of the Academy have visited often and taken away a variety and multitude of artifacts and relics to be studied. Of late their visits are few and far between. Yet it is not only the 'waking,' physical artifacts that the timeless winds of Gyndine hold close to their bosom.

Freyja's meditations are nothing exceptional; they are as she has meditated upon the Force for many years. The slow breathing, then expansion of her consciousness and subconscious to the ebb and flow of the Force, ruminations upon each flicker in the depths of thought and mind and life and energy that is the Light side. In that preternatural state of awareness, where her senses are focused solely upon those realms of thought which are solely the demesne of the Force, she realizes... she is not alone.

The being is Human, kneeling before her and adopting the same meditative position as she. It is indistinct, however, as if seen through blue-tinted glass. It wears the dun brown monastic robes of the Order, of a vaguely antiquated cut, yet has across her eyes -- the shape is somewhat noticeable as feminine -- a colorful, decorated band of cloth. Even as Freyja notices her, the Balmorran Padawan somehow knows that this other has noticed her as well.

Freyja's thoughts are a flicker of interest and curiosity through the Force to the Padawan. Who is she, and how are they communicating so?

The figure speaks; while it is hard to tell if she is looking at Freyja, the Padawan has no doubt the person is looking right at her. "I am Master Ciobhan Mair of Miraluk," she says. "I became one with the Force nine thousand, eight hundred and thirty-four years ago, having survived the black days of the Heresy Wars. I was a scholar, but the actions of the Brotherhood of Darksiders -- their attacks upon the innocent and the fearful -- drove me to war to defend my charges."

Freyja blinks -- literally! -- within the Force. HOW old?! Then she apologizes with embarrassment for thinking the Jedi was a Padawan. She can't help curiously and puzzledly asking but a moment later -- how can the Master manifest here?! Her eyes widen at another thought -- did the Master ever get to meet the Red General? or any of- er... she apologizes again and hushes her tumbling, fascinated thoughts up.

The Jedi seems kindly amused. "I am flattered, child. No, I am not amongst the living. My time had come many years after the Heresy Wars ended. There may be time for other questions you may have. As for how I am here...."

The master "stands," if one could be said to stand in this nether-place. "You tread a path that with each step sends quivers through the Force. These footfalls are lost against the cacophony of the war the Republic fights against the Empire, but for those with ears to hear, they are loud. The Ophics have seen your path; this much you already know. But when you came to Gyndine those steps roused some of us from our slumber in Light. We could not hope to manifest in the waking world; only within your dreams, or those times when you cast your thoughts deep unto the Force."

The Miraluan pauses, and despite her lack of eyes some sense of perception seems to bore in on Freyja. "Can you guess why a Jedi Master, ten thousand years one with the Force, might visit you, child?"

Freyja shakes her head and says politely, "Neh, Master, not specifics. We're riding someplace so wildly out of any of our realms of experience that I'd be just guessing randomly, without any real data. It would be either arrogance or foolishness on my part for me to assume I knew why you were here."

"It is well, then. I will explain." The Master kneels again, this time a little closer to Freyja but somehow not at all too close. Does distance even mean anything here? "You seek the Silver Path, after devoting most of your life thus far to the path of Light as a servant and scholar of Light. You still hold to the Light, but you seek to make the Light and the Dark coequal in the galaxy. Even in this short time which I have been permitted to assert my former identity, I am perplexed and concerned. You have read Ku Radama's 'Coruscant Prayer,' his hymn to the shadows of the Dark side. Do you know what he and his fellow Darksiders did to escape Brentaal?"

There is a sudden image in Freyja's mind: a placid world, with enough light visible on the night side and in orbit to suggest great development. Two moons lie in orbit around their mother; one mottled gray and the other a vibrant, shimmering green; both glittering with lights.

There is a sudden flash of light on the gray moon. What happens next must take several hours but passes in a few breaths, in stops and starts of rapid images. The silvery moon breaks apart -- huge chunks the size of mountains, islands, ripping free -- a glittering trail of silver dust flowing from behind it. Some of the rocks fall towards Brentaal; others collide with the other moon.

In the chaos that grips the space lanes, amidst a hail of vicious energies of the Force (both Light and Dark), a handful of frigate-size ships -- small but clearly military -- streak away perpendicular to the plane of the ecliptic, evading the few warships that can rally to attempt to intercept them. One is destroyed by a drifting remnant of the moon; the others leap into hyperspace.

The view draws back to the edge of the star system, then one light-year out, then a hundred, then to encompass the sector. Waves emanate from Brentaal, the news of the destruction of the moon by the Brotherhood of Darkness and the terror it invokes, even as the ice-storm of war against the Brotherhood begins to rage.

Then the images cease, and the Miraluan is again kneeling before Freyja. "This is what we witnessed," she says softly, sadly. "This was the clarion call of the Heresy Wars. It was against this which we fought, and against which many of my fellows -- your most ancient antecedents in the Order of Luminous Beings -- fell, to protect our charges. You know what they have done, child. Why do you travel with two of their inheritors; if not of their beliefs, then inheritors of their tradition? Why would you wish the Dark to exist side-by-side with the Light?"

Freyja winces mentally, taking a moment to pull herself together again... that was painful and disorienting, especially in the no-place of the Force. She breathes slowly and evenly, slowing her heart back to a normal rate, then finally starts considering the question. She'd worry about making the Jedi Master wait... but in a way, there is all the time in the world -- and none at all -- to reply.

Freyja says slowly, "I cannot apologize for, or explain, the actions of the... Darksiders of your time. I was not there. All I can do is act on what I've read and seen, and experienced... which tells me there are Darksiders who are not unremittingly evil, and there are Jedi who have become twisted and damaged by dedication to the obliteration of the Dark." She closes her eyes within the Force, and tries to share back with the Miraluan Master... share time spent with Vakkal, where he's helped her understand things that have confused her, and through his faith in her, encouraged her on to greater things... and share memories of Fhazil behaving in a courteous and honorable fashion.

Freyja says, "If the Dark should be stamped out without mercy, Master... why didn't the Red General do so? She could have." She opens her eyes within the Force and adds quietly, "How can we heal a wound such as the Darksiders represent... by only applying another wound, time after time?"

Ciobhan Mair listens patiently -- indeed, with apparently infinite patience. "Indeed," she finally says gently. "How can we? Blood begets blood; violence begets violence. But at some point the conscious, serene decision must be made to end that cycle."

"The war against the Brotherhood was horrible, child. There is much that was never set down in history. You are right; the Red General could have. She was perhaps the greatest of Battlemasters, because she had no desire to be one. She was who she was, and who she was -- was a being of compassion. In the face of the actions of the Brotherhood, even her compassion needed to be tempered by justice, and it was as such that she fought them. Yet even throughout her long tenure as the Knight-Cardinal of the Army of Light, still did she never forget who she was at heart. She fought because someone needed to. She showed mercy... because it is the way of the Light."

The ancient master stands; indeed, it is as if she is suddenly much older, slightly stooped and venerable but not at all lacking in energy and strength. "I am assuaged. What the Red General could not end, because the fires of war in her time were as yet unquenchable... perhaps you and your friends may." She casts her gaze downward a little; Freyja knows she is somehow looking at Kourakani. "You do not need me to entreat you to use the Ophics' gift wisely," she says amusedly.

Freyja looks a bit embarrassed again... she's not sure where she gets off thinking she knows better than a Jedi Master that was actually there. Still... she had to at least try to clarify her reasons for what she's doing. This is going to be peculiar and dangerous and radical enough that she'd better be really sure of her hoped-for goals -- it'd be far too easy to derail by accident otherwise.

The Master straightens a little; now she is leaning on a staff that is taller than her by a few feet, of rough-hewn wood smoothed by decades of handling. A Bendu roundel is carved into the knot at the top. "As for your questions, in the time I have remaining... yes, I knew the Red General. I met her briefly at Alderaan, before her campaign took her all the way to Bandomeer, whereupon she disappeared from view and from history."

Freyja looks up, listening with interest, then says quietly, "I would ask who she was, but obviously she wanted to disappear. Why was that, please? Do you know? And do you know if she is... affecting the Force again somehow, after all this time?"

Ciobhan Mair smiles gently. "Her name would mean nothing to you now. I could say it was 'Antilles' or 'Jinn' and it would have equal meaning. Let it suffice to say that her name then was a simple, humble one, and that history has lost it along with my own name."

"As for why she left, I know there is much debate now of that. Had she stayed, one of two things would have happened. First, she would have become a rallying point, and she felt her cloak was stained red with too much blood to allow that. It was time to end the wars, and she was a symbol of the Order's unqualified success in the pursuit of those wars. To end the wars, she felt she needed to disappear."

The master kneels; now she is in the simple robes of a Padawan, and her round, youthful face smiles up at Freyja with the exuberance and light of one as old as Freyja herself. "The second reason is that she would have been asked to lead the Order. For the same reasons she did not wish to do that. As the one who had won the Heresy Wars for the Order she was a powerful symbol of the Order's military might. She wanted the Galaxy to see the Order could be a force for good and peace. With the Red General as the Knight-Grandmaster of the Order, that would have been impossible. The people would only see the Red General."

"And as for if she is affecting the waking world through the Force... well, sister Jedi, I do not know. The Force has many facets to it. I am only a once-Master. Though one with the Force as I am now, with my identity asserted I do not know all that exists within the Force."

Freyja brightens with relief, "Thank you, Master Ciobhan! That's what I really wanted to know -- if my guesses as to why she disappeared were correct. It was encouraging to find the Ophic Order approved of what we were doing, but I still wanted to be careful about remaining listening attentively to the wishes of the Force." She tilts her head thoughtfully, then murmurs quietly, "The Force is with you, Master. Is there anything else you can tell me which might help us remain more closely servants of the Force itself, rather than of any one faction?"

Freyja grins, adding hopefully, "Like... how to mute Sithstain, or spread calm and peace the same way they spread blight?" She adds more slowly, but in more sincerely-felt thought, "Or... how I can help my friend Vakkal heal from this problem he has with healing others?"

The form-form of the master laughs brightly. "That, sister Jedi, I'm sorry; I do not know -- but your enthusiasm is admirable. We only learned of the fall of the Dark Jedi when they felt different from us. It took us many years to recognize what you now call 'Sithstain.' I daresay, though, the Sith themselves know how to mute Sithstain -- but you may not like their technique. Understand, sister Jedi: in the tradition of the Sith, each Sith is at the heart of their world and must be in constant, even unconscious, control of the world around them at every moment."

"Thus the Sithstain; their very being is always actively touching the world around them, seeking to control it -- to prevent it from harming them. It is anathema to the way of the Jedi. As best as we could learn, it could only be endured. But as the Jedi is one with the Force rather than a user, the Jedi recognizes their body is but a reflection, an extension; and the nausea that Sithstain causes in others can be distanced from the mind enough for the Jedi to function. We never sought to annul its influence upon us, sister Jedi, for it was one of the few sure signs one had fallen to the wiles of the Brotherhood of Darkness."

She stands; she is slightly older, perhaps five or ten years older than Freyja, in the garb of an ancient Knight, a pair of short swords with elaborate hilts sheathed at her left side. She is more serious than her younger self, yet still alive and energetic. "The spreading of calm of which you speak is not the same as Sithstain. Sithstain is an indelible result of the way the Sith is trained in the Force. To becalm those around you is to cast a serenity in the Force about yourself; to let strong emotions be washed away by the waves of the Force as if upon a sandy beach...."

The Miraluan gains a faint blue hue and starts to become less distinct, less clearly a being. "As for your Sith friend... I am sorry, child. It is not within my knowledge to help him. Endure this journey, however, for there will be one at the place you seek who may know something... for Vakkal's pain stems from blight... blight buried so deeply that only he himself may drag it out -- indeed, only he himself could have put it there. But without knowing more, to do so now would imperil him and his nature. At Zhar you will find one who can help. You will know him when you see him." Oddly, this last comes out dryly, some humor coloring the once-master's voice.

Freyja blinks, intrigued at the promises and hints of the Miraluan's conversation, then hastily rises herself and bows politely. "Thank you for... for this moment, Master Ciobhan." She smiles, quietly happy, although she's not sure precisely why. Hm... maybe more encouraged than simply happy. She has occasional moments of doubt, but when the Force itself speaks to her like this... she feels more sure she is indeed doing what the Force itself wants -- perhaps needs? -- done for it. She adds, "I shall continue to do my best to be the Eyes and Hands of the Force."

The woman's voice becomes more distant. "You are welcome, child. We shall not meet again, but the Force shall be with you. May the Light illumine your way." With that the faint, blue-lit form of Master Ciobhan Mair fades completely from Freyja's consciousness.

Freyja blinks slowly, her eyes opening and focusing on the here and now. It's a little disorienting. She looks around to see who's there -- she wants to report this to Master Roakkana while it's still fresh in her mind. No one's in sight, so she wanders a bit dazedly back towards the rooms they're occupying, searching for Master Roakkana. She's still not completely centered in the physical world again, however -- she reaches out for her friends mentally more than with sight.

Freyja wanders through the room Vakkal is in, only barely remembering she can't walk through a person here (unlike when she's deeply in the Force), as she trails past. A bit distractedly she smiles and half-mumbles, "Hey, Vakkal... tell Fhazil you and he shouldn't meditate alone here, hai? Lotta strange Lightsiders wandering around..." She waves with a dazed smile as she finds the doorjamb and successfully navigates it, "Later, gotta talk to Master Roakkana..."

Vakkal blinks, looking startled. "Er... all right...?" A moment later he mutters, "Too late...?"

Freyja updates Master Roakkana on her visitation. The venerable Wookiee seems intrigued; he has never heard the name Ciobhan Mair of Miraluk before, though that should not be surprising. That a spirit so ancient contacted Freyja is unusual enough, though he does acknowledge it would only be in dreams or meditation that contact would have any chance of happening.

Not too long after Freyja enters the cabin, there is a sound of scrambling outside, panicked footsteps-

-then an instant later the door is thrown open, and Fhazil is standing there. His already somewhat pale complexion is three shades more ashen, his brow is damp with sweat, and his eyes wild. The faint, just barely noticeable Sithstain around him almost takes the form of a palpable shield, quivering and snapping nervously. Even without that, his trembling makes it pretty clear he's had quite the fright.

Freyja blinks, pausing startledly in her discussion with Master Roakkana... then rises swiftly as comprehension hits her -- he was meditating already! She steps forward, gently taking his arm to draw him into the room and close the door after him. Once that's done, she turns and carefully puts her arms around him, murmuring quietly, "It's all right... it's all right, you're here and now, and they're long gone... relax..." She's reassuring, non-threatening, and moves deliberately, like she'd be with a frightened child or animal she cares about.

"Oh, stang... oh, stang...." he murmurs, almost collapsing into her arms. "Dark gods, I... oh, stang... I didn't know... didn't know Jedi could be so... vindictive!" He swallows, a faint hint of his usual humor trying to reassert itself, "I wasn't even there at Brentaal...."

Freyja shushes him quietly, her murmuring mostly non-verbal by this point, and gently brushes his hair back from his face with one hand. She'll continue to hold him while doing so, until the trembling stops.

Zero himself is off a short distance away, beside a waterfall that fills the air with a soft, rushing sound as the water leaps from the stones five meters above the pool. With the stream to drown out all but the most insistent sounds, it is peaceful here, a faint scent of wet spring leaves filling the air. It is a perfect place to meditate in the ways his father had taught him.

Zero feels the altered consciousness of the meditative trance drift over him like gentle blankets of warm, loamy moss. In this place that is no place, this time that is no time, there is only the single point of Self and its place in/as the All. Until suddenly....

"'Through all the stars that a Jedi might find himself under,'" comes a strong voice, as if quoting some ancient text, "'-of this it is certain: he must always be ready to take up his weapon to protect himself or others.' Padawan Zero Satau," then, harshly in an ancient Alderaanian dialect, "En garde!"

Before Zero in this nether-realm of consciousness stands a Cathar... a Cathar who is just a few inches shy of Zero's own height. Though he stands in classic sparring stance, at a glance the blade he carries is very much live -- live, Echal steel, straight bladed and with simple hilt, the Bendu roundel clearly visible on the pommel. The Cathar raises his blade in sparring salute, a faintly merry -- yet at the same time very serious -- light in his eyes. "I am Battlemaster Narta of Cathar," he says. "Though history has forgotten my name, I was one of the first Battlemasters of the Order of Jedi Knights, and my time was nigh ten thousand years in the past. I faced my trials as a knight in the Hell of the Heresy Wars. Now that introductions are taken care of... show me what Graysiders of your time have in the way of prowess!" He waits with apparently infinite patience for Zero to prepare himself.

Zero turns, drawing Kawatuara and breaking it in half, disengaging the maglocks to bring two azure blades to the ready, arms crossed in front of him. One blade is held close to his side, facing back, the other reversed in his grip to face the enemy and held high along his eye line, humming dangerously. "Hmph. My father always taught me never to pick a fight. But if that's how you want it..." He inhales deeply and invokes his Battlemind. "Haaaaaa...!"

"I didn't expect resistance from the Jedi Order so quickly... or from beyond the grave. Is what I'm doing so awful to you that you've come back from the dead to stop me?"

The Cathar watches Zero intently, smiling a little. It's a little hard to tell what the fang-bared expression represents. "Your father is wise. And you are too quick to judge why I am here. There is nothing untoward about a little sparring, is there?" He nods slowly, almost in satisfaction. "Ah, the Silver Guardian. Even in this place it is with you. Well done!"

He raises up his own sword above his head, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He grasps the blade lightly just above the hilt. Exhaling slowly, he draws his hand up along the blade; it is only a faint prick upon his off-hand at the base of the blade, but from where Zero stands he can see the thin, very faint, almost invisible trail of red that runs along the length of the blade as the Cathar fully exhales. As Narta inhales again, lowering his free hand, light seems to gather along the blade in little motes and particles, coalescing into a faint shimmer. With his exhalation the blade flares slightly, not at all blinding but impossible to ignore, and the faint, shimmering shroud enfolds the blade fully.

Narta whirls the blade a little, bringing it to an en garde position. "You jump to conclusions, boy, the same way I did when I was your age. Come, then! Let us see what you've been taught, what you have learned... and the difference between the two!" He does a slight lunge with the sword, the blade's gleam casting faint aftereffects along the trail of its motion. The attack is not meant to harm, but rather to test Zero's defenses.

Zero turns inside, bringing the reversed blade up to block. The Silver Guardian gives off a burst of silver fire as the blade strikes it, startlingly just like a lightsaber would. Zero grins. "Of course I jump to conclusions. Every mysterious stranger I've met in the past four months has tried to kill me!" He brings the off saber in his right hand up -- a quick, brutal, stabbing motion. "But I'll take you at your word; it's not often a Jedi comes back from the dead just to see what you've got. A match it is! Saaah, let's go!"

Narta narrowly evades Zero's lightsaber blade. "Sounds miserable. I can sympathize, if you can believe it." His own blade flicks again; either the Cathar is extremely strong and handles the Echal steel as if it were silk and paper, or that sword is not -- entirely -- Echal steel.

Zero pulls his head out of the way just in time. He's fast! "I expect there are -- were -- more than a few people wanting to see how they measured up to the Battlemaster, right?" He catches the sword on his extended blade and snaps the reversed one underneath. "My father had the same problem!" He pants a little, caught off guard by the near-miss, "Don't take this the wrong way, Master, but you're a lot faster than I expected a dead man to be!"

Narta doesn't quite evade the second blade as elegantly. "Ooof! Close, boy; that double saber serves you well! More than a few, yes, and more than a few were Jedi themselves." He grins, that snaggletoothed expression again as he somehow manages to reverse the blade so it lies against his arm, stepping in what would be a roundhouse swing but which brings the blade up against Zero's defenses. "No offense taken, of course -- you move better than I expected a Graysider to!"

Zero anticipates the Cathar's strength and takes no chances; he catches the incoming sword-edge on the crux of his crossed sabers. Even still, his arms bend back toward him with the impact; he grins and licks his canines absently. "I'll take it as a compliment." He parts the crossed blades abruptly, swinging his body down and back, anticipating a follow-through from the blade, and kicks out in another no-hands cartwheel, bringing the pommels of Kawatuara together and sealing them with a twist. "Here's one for you; I think I need Kawatuara in one piece for this!" He steps back into combat, the blue staff tracing an arc of deadly blue light.

Narta laughs again, just barely evading the cut of the now-joined lightsaber. "My thanks, boy, it's been ten thousand years since I heard a compliment such as that!" The Battlemaster seems utterly unfazed by how close Zero's cuts get to him. "We never had fancy toys such as that back in my time. Maybe there's something to be said for it!" He adds, almost conversationally, as he rights the blade and whips it around for a strike to Zero's midsection, "So what put you on the path of the Graysider, boy?"

Zero easily tips Kawatuara into the path of the cut, and retaliates with a strike toward Narta's head. "Neither did I, until a few days ago. Would you believe I started out on swords and staves?" He marvels at how easily this battle is 'flowing.' Normally he can't keep up a steady patter as well as maintain his Battlemind so perfectly. Maybe he's getting better, he muses; or maybe this long-ago Jedi has something to do with it. Either way, he reasons, why squander a good thing?

"Dumb circumstance, if you can believe that, Master. I was an assassin. But long contact with a Jedi, a sudden attack of morals, and a tap on the shoulder from an insistent Force all conspired to change that. I'm Gray enough to believe it's the will of the Force for me to do something better with my life... but my circumstances decided where." Feints and parries, and the staccato bursts of silvery sparks punctuate this long discourse. "My honor wouldn't let me become Sith after what they did to my home world. And I'm not quite pure enough to be a real Jedi. So this is where it seems my path lies."

Narta has a slightly easier time dodging the attack that was not parried by his sword. "I can understand, I think," he says, whirling back and bringing his sword up to the ready. "I never knew any Graysiders. It was hard to be a neutral in the Heresy Wars; at some point everyone was fighting everyone else." He twists the blade into a rolling figure-eight whirl, out of which the tip licks forward in a subtle lunge. "I came to the Jedi inadvertently -- my tradition, Lightsiders all, was dying. This gave us a way to continue some of who we are."

Zero catches the lunge at the last moment on Kawatuara's edge and guides it aside. The sliding of the charged blade against the length of Silver Guardian's rear blade gives off a streak of silver fire in passing. "I can respect that. I'm not sure who I am myself, yet... other than a son of Sedrak and my own person, after being a tool for a long time. My family's always had fighters in it. I can still honor my ancestors and abide by the will of the Force this way, and I'm content with that." He pauses for a moment, only in speech, adding, "I guess you can understand that pretty well." He swings the staff over, turning it in his hand with for a swift double-cut -- one blade and then the other.

Maddeningly, though he is forced to dodge the blades, Narta still seems unwinded. "Hah! Good technique! If I was still alive I'd have to try one of those things." He whips the sword around again in a fierce, unhesitatingly aggressive upper-arc cut. "It's important to just be who you are, especially as a Graysider. But what about the Darksiders with you?"

Zero leans out of the way just in time, the blade whistling past his ear. He takes a step back, resetting his stance, and comes straight into the middle, spinning the weapon in his hands then snapping forward with a single quick, efficient thrust. "I don't know, really, Master. I don't know if you can really even call Vakkal 'Dark' anymore. He's a Jedi's sword protector... and moreover he's hardly what I'd call evil or even destructive. More like a user of the Force saddled with a bad education." He mms, adding, "And as a warrior, I know he's watched my back in bad situations before."

Narta *hmph*s a little, sidestepping the thrust and taking it on his blade, riding it down slightly to flick his own weapon upward at Zero. "Wait until something very bad threatens Padawan Freyja and see how 'bad' that education gets. Still... for the canid Sith -- he is fulfilling his duties as honor demands. But the other? The path you three are taking is making a noise that is felt through all reaches of the Force -- it is a quiet noise, and only such as the Ophics have ears to hear it, but it's there and it roused us. Do you know what it is you are doing?"

Zero leans just a few inches out of the way as the blade passes his head. The battle pauses there; both warriors with weapons outstretched, passing each other by the merest of margins. Zero looks up at the Cathar, his lunge having carried him down far enough to be below the feline's eye line, and says simply, "No, I don't. Honestly, Master... Freyja thinks we can end the war. I don't believe that for a minute. I don't think the actions of three people will amount to a thing against the tide of the Empire's need for revenge and the Order's self-defensive need for vengeance. But on the other hand..."

The warriors part suddenly with the flash of sword and blazing arc of lightsaber. Zero stands at ready, stance low, Silver Guardian humming maliciously along his forearm, free hand extended toward his opponent. "This is the only way I know. I swore to Freyja to see this through to the end, and I will not abandon her. If she feels Fhazil is trustworthy enough... I have to stand by her. I'm too cynical to make that judgment."

Narta *oofs!* again, as this time the attack does seem to come too close for comfort. The Cathar chuckles, holding up his hand as he sets his blade across his shoulders; the shimmering upon it evaporates just like that. "You fight well enough, boy; let's leave it at that. When you fully bond with Kawatuara, you should be well able to face what's coming." He bows, his sword flicking up in salute. "My compliments to a good opponent! But that does bring up a problem."

Zero extinguishes his blade and bows deeply, palms out. He straightens and nods. "A stronger opponent, I have never had the honor to face. But... yes, there is still the problem at hand."

The Cathar lets out a heavy breath, as if a bit of his age actually is showing (though how does one show ten thousand years?), as he kneels down, pulling a cloth from some pocket or pouch and starting to clean the blade. "Have a seat; rest. I haven't sparred in quite some time; it was very refreshing. As I said... your footsteps have been heard to the furthest depths of the Force. You have destiny on your side. And yet, as you say, what are three people to the thousand trillions who inhabit the Republic; the billions in the Empire?"

He gestures slightly; apparently he liked talking with his hands in life. "I'm not going to lecture you, boy. You've had lectures enough, I imagine. You don't need a Battlemaster who's been dead ten thousand years to tell you what to do, least of all a Jedi, a Lightsider Battlemaster." Narta pauses in the cleaning of his sword. "You also don't need a fossil like me haranguing you about 'what will you do?' and such. Just let me say this one thing, Zero Satau of Sedrak...."

Zero sits down lightly near the Cathar and shakes his head, "I try not to make distinction based on faction. That kind of thinking plunged my planet into a decade of purposeless war. Say what you feel, Master Narta. I'll listen."

Narta stands, the blade clean as he sheathes it with a flourish. "You three have destiny on your side, but that also means a lot is going to happen to you. The time will come when that destiny will ask a reckoning of you. When that time comes... use your heart, Satau. From what I have seen, from my point of view... you three have a good chance to, if not stop the war, then at least wake the hell up some people who need waking up. But it won't be easy. So you'll have to ask yourself what you believe, when it comes time." He flips a jaunty salute to Zero, giving the Human a grin. "And I think my time's drawing near. I'll soon be again one with the Force, after millennia of... well, that would be telling."

Zero smiles. "Raiy seh no mata ao, Master. See you again on the other side."

The Cathar laughs. "Appropriate! I'll have to try to remember that. 'Raiy seh no mata ao.'" Still chuckling, he turns and starts walking. After four steps he is already fading into the background of this nether-place of consciousness. After six... he is gone.

Zero opens his eyes, becoming aware of his surroundings again. The grass, the waterfall, the wind that drifts over the rocks -- he awakes to the roaring of water in his ears, and... gods below, it's freezing! He comes back to the here and now, still kneeling under the downpour of water, where he'd been meditating just moments ago- wait, moments? Minutes? An hour? He isn't sure.

He stands slowly, an incredible effort under the pounding pressure of the waterfall, and steps out of it slowly, slowly, one foot before the other. The air hits his skin like electricity and he shudders, "Uuah, gods below it's freezing in there!" Oddly enough, however, Silver Guardian is not. It rests warmly in his palm, as if it had been ignited very recently. He frowns, looking at it quizzically for a few long moments, then grins. "Raiy seh no mata ao, Narta. Heh." He picks up his shirt, his boots, and his overcoat from the grass, and begins the long walk back to the ship.

Zero's study of the droid brain box has yielded results. The droids themselves had no significant distinctive marks or serial numbers, at least none in the brain box Zero studied, though the hardware is not unlike that found in Republic combat-capable droids. The droids' programming was encrypted, but the real surprise was the programming was apparently a blend of disparate technologies: the firmware seemed to include a translating system of some kind for the software to talk to the hardware, as well as a decryptor for the programming. Unfortunately the decryption chips had self-destructed by the time Zero got to his study of the 'box. The firmware, with that translation capability, is unusual enough; the only time such a thing is needed is when the programming files are produced by a completely different entity than the manufacturer.

The droids had a rudimentary sentience/cognition module, and while it too had no distinctive marks, its design could have come from any number of Balmorran military droid manufacturers... or the combat droid manufacturers from any of several other industrial worlds in the Republic. Zero huhs quietly to himself, studying the processing unit. "Well... that explains how they got so good so quickly... they bought from the best and reprogrammed."

Freyja frowns, checking for where serial numbers usually go in Balmorran droid brain boxes. Have they been filed off or something? "This is... really disturbing. So they apparently can simply reprogram Republic droids... we desperately need to pass this information on to the proper authorities, Zero. This could be devastating."

Zero says, "Yeah, the Senate needs to know about this. And the Order. This could come as a nasty surprise to someone on the front lines."

Freyja sighs quietly, firmly reminding herself that she's doing the best she can... and right now the best she can do is make sure the right people know this -- and head on for Zhar. Miserably her inner voice adds, No matter how responsible you feel about this droid sheisse...

Zero says, "I don't have the facilities here to decrypt whatever's in this brain. We'd be better off handing it all over to an expert."

The droids appear, in utter violation of Republic droid manufacture laws, to have been built with no serial numbers in place; even the cognition modules, what arguably gives a droid its unique personality, have no markings in either the hardware or firmware to identify it. There is nothing to link them, specifically, to any Republic company. Zero tells Freyja, "There are no marks at all, not even in their personality modules. These droids don't exist."

Freyja shivers, "Hela's curse... they're copies! How could they have done this so fast?!" In silent fear she wonders... how could the Sith be so horribly, efficiently, blindingly fast in re-creating Republic science?!

Zero says, "I'll tell you what I think, Freyja."

Freyja takes a deep breath and looks firmly away from the brain box. She doesn't really want to be anywhere near it or the Sith just now... the twisted promise of the brain box before her is just frightening. "Ah... hai? What's that, Zero." Vakkal and Fhazil exchange mute, worried looks.

Zero says, "I don't think they did. I think they had someone inside the Republic build these... and then set up their own programming. Look. There's some kind of translation pass-through here. The only time you'd ever need that is if someone had a totally alien set of operating codes from what the droid was originally programmed for. I think they got these straight from a manufacturer and added their own parameters for stalking Fhazil. I think that someone is supplying them."

Freyja gives Zero a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "Thank you for trying to be comforting, Zero... but consider what that implies -- someone in the Republic is now building for the Empire." Bitterly she adds, "How does one defend a realm... that apparently doesn't wish to be defended?"

Zero says, "Honestly, I'm not trying to be comforting. I'm trying to accurately determine where in the Thousand Hells they got these from. We have to report this to the Order and the Senate." He adds a little irritatedly, "And come up with a plausible explanation for why we ran from the scene that the rest of these droids were found at."

Freyja is standing very, very still, as if she's reining herself in very carefully. She simply nods to Zero, then murmurs, "I'm sure you can take care of that. I think I want to go for a walk just now, though... alone." She paces quietly out.

Zero sighs and leans back in his seat, staring at the disassembled brain unit. "What the hell are we going to do now," he asks it. The brain unit, unhelpfully, does not reply.

Fhazil blinks, then opens his mouth... and closes it, shoulders slumping, when Freyja states her desire to be alone and leaves. Vakkal sighs and moves to the door. "I'll be up topside, keeping watch on things."

Some further research shows that soon after Fhazil arrived on Commenor, another trio of ships had landed, and not long after that, the ship he'd come in on had been boarded and totaled by somebody -- most likely, the droids. Following the incident at the cantina, the three ships which had landed had been impounded by the City Guard. Droids wander around the spaceport all the time, so it's not surprising these four were barely given a second glance until they revealed their weapons. It barely made any note in the local papers.

Freyja heads out and away from where everyone else is, finding a small spot very similar to where Zero meditated not so long ago, although she's not aware of that. She sighs, settling down to meditate in an attempt to calm her frightened, racing, rather fatalistic thoughts.

Freyja hasn't completely drifted into the calm of the Force when it quietly occurs to her... disease. The Plague along the front lines would shatter cohesion in the Empire forces, and swiftly kill anyone from Khar Velos. She blinks, rather shocked at the brutal efficiency of that thought -- then 'glances' around a bit irritably, All right, who is it this time?! Come out... show yourself, Lightsider! She's silent for a while, waiting impatiently. Slowly, uncomfortably, she realizes -- that thought was hers.

Freyja takes a slow, deep breath. That is not like her. Neh. She doesn't want... well, wait. She's trying to release her emotions... slowly and carefully she examines the thought for tactical possibilities. There is a curious, distancing dispassion in doing so. Hai, it's the potential horrible, deliberate murder of millions... but would it save even more? She finally, calmly concludes that it might well do so.

But... and it's a very big but -- the cost is too high. To do so, in her view of the Force, is simply wrong.

Freyja takes a long, slow breath. She's still not happy... but she's not frightened and angry any more either. She doesn't like what the Empire is doing -- but she's not going to compromise her beliefs, nor shatter who she is, in order to beat them at all costs. The ends does not justify the means. With that quiet realization, she opens her eyes, rises soberly, and heads silently back. She has a mission... she's a servant of the Light. Terrible things may be happening, but she'll do her best to do what she believes the Force wills. She can do no less, and still be herself.

Later that day, Zero packs up what they have and contacts the laity aides who help manage Gyndine. In short order one of their couriers arrives and accepts, under signature, the package to be sent to the local Republic liaison office. It goes with Zero's explanation: that they had reason to believe the droids were targeted at them specifically (because they're Jedi, of course, not because they have something to hide, no sir, not me), and fled the scene because they believed there may have been more and wanted to lead them away from a population center where the collateral damage potential was dangerously high.

The message goes on to tell exactly what he's learned in his preliminary investigation. Then he's going to officially request HoloNet access and deliver the same message to the Council. This is accomplished in short order; a cross link to the office's hypernode is established and the message is sent.

What follows is an interesting series of messages worthy of a holovid opera. The first response is a message -- signed only "by authority of the Council" -- which acknowledges the reception of the message, and places the group under a "temporary Seal pending the issue of a full Seal by the Council." At the same time, a message arrives from the Watchers, acknowledging the message; notably, this one comes with no especial Seal laid upon the group, apparently trusting to the Jedis' discretion in the matter, as tradition would demand.

Not fifteen minutes later another arrives, signed by Master Sur-Qam Talin of Alderaan, addressed to Master Roakkana 'et al' and rescinding the Seal as being "an unfortunate and overly reactionary response; be assured that the Council trusts your discretion in this matter as it does with any Jedi." Hot on the heels of that one comes yet another message signed "by authority of the Jedi Council" specifying a Seal upon the group.

One can only imagine there must be some sort of bureaucratic bloodshed going on at the Temple, when finally, an hour later, a message signed simply by "the Council of the Jedi Order" arrives, rescinding any and all previous Seals, and reiterating Master Sur-Qam Talin's previous statement that the discretion of all Jedi involved is assumed and trusted. An additional message from the Watchers assures the group that this information has already indeed proven fruitful... whatever that means.

Freyja blinks, watching this flurry with bemused fascination. She's been very quiet... and can't really think of what to say at this either. Roakkana watches all this with equal bemusement. "It seems that this information has caused some... panic, I daresay."

Zero takes this all in impassively. After Master Talin's last message, all he can manage is a lopsided grin, "I'd give anything to see the vista that must be unfolding in the Temple right now. Bet it hasn't been this active in a long while." Freyja nods silently, hoping the "right" Jedi finish up in control of the Council... at least the right Jedi according to the Force.

Fhazil has calmed down some since his... encounter with the Jedi spirit. He would not speak much of it, except to say that the name of the master who visited him was Uiello Tsung of Corellia. As with the other two, despite deep research and Roakkana's encyclopedic studies, 'Master Uiello Tsung of Corellia' is another Jedi whose name does not appear in any historical record.

The time has come for Fhazil to build the lightsaber, however: Korotatinea, the Black Destroyer. As nervous as he tries to not be, it's clear he's still shaken. He glances between Freyja and Zero, after having gone over the procedure with them. "Well. If you think it's time...?"

Freyja says calmly, "Neh, Fhazil. If you think it's time."

Fhazil lets out his breath, and nods quietly. "True. It's... as good a time as any, neh? I mean... better now, than when we'd really need it immediately, right?"

Freyja grins, "Hai." She opens her mouth to curiously ask what the blade said to him... then firmly reminds herself not to distract him just now. "So... you've read all the directions, metaphoric as well as actual, and we've reviewed with you. Any other questions before you start?"

Zero says, "Take your time, Fhazil. It's more important that you do it right. We have plenty of time still on Gyndine, so relax, and do it in your own time." Freyja nods in agreement.

Fhazil nods slowly, taking in a slow breath. "Just... I know this isn't a normal lightsaber; you've both told me about what it- uh, they are. Should... should I be expecting anything, you know, untoward?" He gives a wan smile. "It just seems ancient Jedi don't seem to be fond of me of late...."

Freyja smiles slowly and with some sympathy, "Well, if you go into trance we'll have one of us follow you... how's that? Aside from that... you may get more memories, I think, but I'd also think the lightsaber would at some point try accepting you as a friend, if you're willing, hai?"

Zero says, "We're all here now, Fhazil. Believe me, no one's going to let that happen a second time, at least not while I'm here."

Fhazil swallows and nods, smiling quietly. "Thank you... both of you." He takes a breath and looks at the tools spread before him, along with the tiny, glittering specks of the Sedraki Adegan crystals. "Well... here goes...." He begins the slow process, taking his time, consulting the instructions -- both sets -- several times. He does not get easily daunted, showing not a bit of frustration even when he has to start from scratch a few times. He perseveres, even as the morning leads on to afternoon, then evening. Through it all, Korotatinea awaits him at the top of the table, its ebon tracery glittering faintly.

Freyja waits quietly, watching and carefully curbing the desire to butt in and help. It wouldn't really be helping... Fhazil has to do this on his own. She ends up meditating come nightfall, drifting peacefully in the Force as she watches over her friends. Evening into night finds Zero stretched out on one of the long seats in the common area, dozing on and off over a data-pad of tech notes.

As evening wears on, the inner components of the lightsaber begin to take on a recognizable form. After the Adegan crystals are placed, he reaches for another of the fine-manipulator tools... and pauses, consternation flickering across his brow. "What...?" He shakes his head. "Thought I heard something..." he murmurs, then returns to the work at hand. Zero opens one eye, glancing at Fhazil. He seems all right; the eye closes again. They'll wake him if there's trouble.

Soon, Freyja and Zero begin to feel it -- a faint tension in the Force, nothing quite like the rush of the flow when it is invoked, but present nonetheless. To Freyja's expanded consciousness, it is like a dust devil rather than a vortex or whirlwind, emanating from the table Fhazil works upon.

Perhaps more than that is something utterly fascinating: the patterns of the Force-aware as they assemble a lightsaber with crystals imbued with the Force. It is a dance of light and shape, threads being woven and structures taking form, a lattice of light and shadow that pulses and flickers as Fhazil completes the lightsaber. He is not at all aware of the patterns of the Force around him; indeed, if Freyja were not meditating, placing her awareness in the Force, she would not perceive them at all.

The miniature whirlwind of the Force encompasses the lattice of energy... and seems to be strengthening as Fhazil nears completion. He is, in fact, almost done. He reaches for the Awatea casing and pauses again, frowning and glancing back over his shoulder for a few moments.

Freyja watches in silent fascination, admiring the pattern and wishing she could have watched Zero and herself creating the lightsabers as well. She wonders dreamingly what it is Fhazil is apparently 'hearing,' then casually observes the two already-assembled lightsabers, wondering if that's part of the pattern and dancing in the Force.

The lightsabers already constructed do not have a similar lattice -- but as Freyja looks closer at Kourakani, she sees that the lattice is indeed there -- just very faint, buried deep, deep in the very structure of the lightsaber, reaching down into the very archetype of what the lightsaber is. The pattern of the saber's presence in the Force is subtle but present, apparently forged while she herself had been assembling it. Looking closely at Kawatuara, she sees a similar pattern there, as well.

Zero's open eye meets Fhazil's. He nods silently. Fhazil glances over to Zero and nods in return. He swallows and turns back to the table, gently placing the components within the saber casing. There is a faint 'click' as the casing seals. That there is utter silence and utter stillness for a moment is almost cliché. That it is blown to smithereens a moment later is no less expected -- yet even so still startling.

In the Force, the lattice flares blindingly and coalesces, compressing as it seems to insinuate itself fully into the very concept, the archetype, of Korotatinea. The whirlwind becomes dark and whips around Fhazil. In the waking world, the former Corellian blinks and takes in a sharp breath. "Oh, no," he mutters to himself, less in disbelief or despair than in mild, half-humored dismay. That's when the whirlwind yowls and a strangled sound escapes Fhazil's throat. "Korotatinea... Black Destroyer, Shadow Render, Piercer of Lies... so many names...! Oh, dark gods, I should have known... what else would a Jedi carry as an tool of destruction? Grrrk...!"

Those with eyes awakened to the Force can see it then, briefly through the whirlwind: Korotatinea's original wielder, a Jedi in the light dun robes of the Order but with the hood raised, and beneath it a sad, weathered, but utterly indomitable visage. It seems to draw its hand back, then down upon Fhazil's brow in a Jovian gesture, sending the Sith reeling backward. The Name thunders through the Force again: NGA TORU AWATEA-HOARI!

Then all is silent; silent and still. There is no whirlwind. Fhazil is blinking in shock and awe at the empty air in front of him... and the Awatea sabers, the Three-Dawn swords... all three are warm, the pommel-jewels flickering with faint, gentle light, warm and comforting to the touch. The three are, after thousands of years, once again Three.

Freyja winces at the sudden flare of brilliance within the Force... then gently 'touches' Fhazil mentally, whispering soft reassurance to him. Zero is standing in mid-lunge off the couch, eyes wide, frozen, when the silence falls again. "Fhazil...?" Freyja gently brushes Zero's mind in reassurance as well. It's the first time the Three have been connected in this way.

Fhazil is blinking, his breathing quick and shallow yet controlled. At Freyja's mental touch he closes his eyes, yielding to the gentle touch as he gathers himself, then swallows. "Stang..." he rasps, his throat dry. He opens his eyes a little, starting to pull himself back up to a sitting position. "I'm... I'm okay," he says to Freyja and Zero. "At least... I think I am...."

Zero sits back down heavily. "Gods below, Fhazil... scared the hell out of me."

Fhazil says wryly, gaining some of his humor back, "I think it scared ten or eleven hells out of me...."

Zero lies back down and exhales. "Tch."

Freyja is quietly pleased, within the Force, to feel that it appears easier to link with her triat-elect friends -- in the same degree that it was easier to connect to Zero after they'd both completed their sabers. Also, she sees the quies-ovo cells are... well, growing, for lack of a better word... subtly increasing within the Force. Now the three are again Three, they are accommodating themselves to their holders, increasing in strength and the potential they'll bring their wielders.

Freyja curiously studies the cells more closely within the Force. They're not physically growing, but they do appear a bit brighter, forming intricate patterns within themselves that spread throughout the lattices. Looking even more closely within the Force, she perceives a tiny, intricate, new weaving (not unlike the silver cord she imagines binding her 'soul' to her) of three threads: one silver, one gold, one obsidian. The graceful, almost Balmorran-appearing triple-knot it forms between the sabers is also interwoven within the wielders themselves, apparently intertwining with the subtle bonds that already exist.

Freyja smiles, visible even to those watching her physical body, and gently encourages those interpersonal bonds. She remembers an old legend of her people which says those who have touched the face of the goddess together during shared love-making will always have their souls intertwined... but she's not sure she's quite ready for that yet. Perhaps this gentle encouragement will do for starters.

Fhazil is still shaken; his near-encounter with the seemingly retributive persona who once wielded what is now his lightsaber had a strong effect on him. He closes his eyes, weakened somewhat, almost humbled, even his Sithstain greatly muted as he lies back and breathes slowly. For the time being he focuses outward -- or perhaps inward of a different direction might be a better way of putting it -- along the group, the intertwined three. Freyja...? he asks, in that nether-realm whose sole demesne is the space within which the Three and the three are intertwined... before, safe and secure and comforted, his exhausted body begins to drift into sleep, his mind still curled up in that realm much as how Vakkal might rest, aware if drowsy.

Freyja smiles, whispering softly within the Force, Hai, Fhazil, it's me. Rest. She exhales slowly, her eyes opening, and gracefully unfolds her stance. She's quietly happy; she can feel the Force dancing beautifully within her, and the connection of the Three binding them close and connected still. She tilts her head to regard Zero, who also looks tired where he's laid out on the couch... then silently paces out of the room. Fhazil will need something after all that, and Zero probably won't mind a hot tea either.

A moment later, Zero sits up on the couch, rubbing his eyes. The scare robbed him of any desire to go back to sleep. Quick, ugly thoughts of irritation race through his transparent ripple in the Force; almost as quickly he realizes they're getting out past him and escaping on the link. Another irritation, this one directed at himself. He takes the cup gently from Freyja, Sorry.

As Freyja rises she sees Roakkana standing in the doorway to the aft part of the ship, silent but looking inarguably concerned. After a moment, though, his expression changes to satisfied relief. He nods and turns to meander back to the surprisingly comfortable and shockingly sturdy Wookiee-style hammock he had installed back there.

Freyja smiles at the Wookiee before he leaves... then gives Zero a curious look as she kneels next to Fhazil with a mug of something hot, querying as to the reason for the irritation. Zero holds his cup in front of him in both hands, blowing the steam from it. Just thinking it was going to be hard to sleep again... stupid thought.

Freyja's still not awoken Fhazil, trying to give Zero a bit of privacy yet, Nightmares? Come cuddle with us tonight. When you get twitchy in your dreams, I've found gently stroking your hair helps you relax. She pauses, then adds a bit worriedly, Ah... hopefully you don't mind my doing that?

Zero looks up from the drink. How long have you been doing that?

Freyja considers a bit, then replies honestly, Don't know, Zero. It just seemed like the thing to do when you appeared to be having nightmares?

Zero frowns. Have I been doing it... often?

Fhazil remains asleep, more from exhaustion than anything else; a quiescent presence in the subtle bond. Freyja considers again, trying to remember things that occur in the half-dreaming times. Finally she whispers in the Force, It's happened a few times... not very often, but perhaps once or twice a month?

Zero sits back against the couch, thinking, and sips the tea thoughtfully. Maybe so. I dream about the fighting sometimes. Or things I did after. Sometimes it's just... disturbing, but not for any good reason. I guess we've been having a lot of shocks lately. Did I do it last night?

Freyja nods silently, the memory of quiet reassurance, his soft sigh of relief and relaxation, and the almost silky texture of his hair drifting to Zero from her. Zero closes his eyes. I was talking to Argent again. Just talking. About nothing in particular... the drinks we were having. Something. Still frightening.

Freyja listens silently within their link. He can feel her concern and caring, and also her warm, steady presence; her determination to help him if she can. Zero drains the cup and sets it down, rubbing his eyes. I hope I haven't worried you. I know it's a bother.

Freyja smiles, shaking her head, Not a bother, silly. You're here for me when I need you... how could I do any less? I just wish I could do more. She looks down at the steaming mug in her hands, then back up at Zero, and smiles again, You're too hard on yourself. I don't mind... I'm glad to be of some use to you. Sometimes it feels like you're so far away I couldn't possibly ever reach you, or help. This... is something I can help with. She adds a little shyly, I like curling up with you and Vakkal. It feels... nice. Warm. Safe... like nothing could ever hurt me.

Zero smiles a little. I'm glad. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, then adds after a moment, ...am I really far away?

Freyja tilts her head and smiles in return, Sometimes. You do know I wouldn't let anything happen to you either, hai?

Zero nods. I know I don't always see the real enemy. I know you're always looking out for me.

I try... just like you do. That's what teamwork's all about... Freyja yawns hugely, surprising herself, then grins, Whoops. Let me get this into Fhazil, and him to bed... then we can go sleep.

Fhazil rouses himself somewhat at Freyja's soft urging, blinking up at her groggily. He smiles gratefully, noticing the gently steaming mug, and pulls himself up, saying and thinking simultaneously, "Thank thank you you..." His brow furrows as he realizes what he just did, and the other two triat members can feel him trying to get used to what is occurring -- before he even has any real understanding of just what it is that is now happening to him -- to all of them.

Freyja grins quietly at Fhazil as he carefully accepts the mug, It's all right... you're safe. Drink... then sleep.

Zero adds a little sheepishly, Um... before you go, Freyja... Freyja looks up inquiringly at her fellow Padawan. Zero doesn't know how to phrase his request properly; he tries it conceptually through his link to her. As long as they're waiting... could he hold her for a while?

Freyja brightens, and Zero can feel her thought -- she'd just been wondering if he'd mind if she offered one! She grins, holding her arms out for him to come curl up with her. Zero smiles a little, gently curling his arms around Freyja's waist to hug her softly. I care about you a lot, Freyja. Maybe I don't say so as often as I should.

Freyja sighs in quiet contentment, her arms warmly wrapped around Zero as they sit next to Fhazil, waiting for him to finish drinking. Part of her leg is brushing gently against Fhazil as well, and the physical contact between the three of them seems to aid the mental linkage, or so it seems to Freyja in her current tired state. She's very happy -- a quiet purr of joy dancing through all three of their minds -- as she whispers back to Zero, I will remember, my friend... and you remember this also: you are one of my favorite people in all the universe. Come touch and hug any time you are lonely... I like helping you find happiness.

Zero rests his head gently against Freyja's. I'll remember that.

The Malice pulled into low orbit above Ziost, all according to procedure. The orbit around the frozen world was littered with dozens of battleships, many of them flagships for the Lords of War. The drab, green hulls emblazioned with the dark russet solar disk of the Sith Empire, they formed perhaps the greatest single concentration of firepower in the Sith military.

Malice drew even closer, leaving her escorts in high orbit and making the aerospace controllers start to get worried. Frenzied communications raged accross the com networks, and did not cease even as three landing craft dropped from the heavy battleship's hull.

They angled down to one of the fortress's landing pads, where an assemblage of Sith Lords was already awaiting. Many were looking concerned, and cast glances to the rear of their ranks, wondering if they should break. But the single, dark presence there stood firm, and so they did not dare flee the apparent onslaught.

The three craft landed. The ramps lowered to the ground, and quite unsurprisingly a number of soldiers -- Massassi and Arkanians -- all but leaped from them. The Lords on the pad tensed... but the soldiers sped by them, charging into the depths of the fortress.

"Find Darth Pelus!" Ghang Si'yul shouted as he descended the pad, his sword still sheathed. "I want him alive if possible, but dead if he tries to escape!" The armored soldiers complied, completely ignoring the gathered welcoming assembly.

"Lord Ghang!" The wierdly modulated voice sounded tinny, disturbing to any who had never heard it before. Chained to and carried by a sword-armed Massassi, grim contents of a prism-shaped container, Simus of the Echal Will sounded outraged and yet also curious. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you broken the Compact of the Moot?"

Ghang did not immediately answer; instead he knelt down before the assembly, head lowered. "Dark Lord," he said, "I am at your service. I come with the identity of one of the leaders of the Oath of Fire. It is Darth Pelus, Lord of Daeiben, of State."

From the back of the assemblage, there was a faint stirring, and a tall figure walked forward. The lords parted for him quickly, and the cloaked figure with an elaborate crown or headdress stood looming over Lord Ghang. "Darth Pelus," an oddly quiet and soft voice repeated. "Interesting. How did you come by this information?"

Ghang steeled himself a bit. The sithstain of the Dark Lord could only be muted so much. "We received the information from a Jedi, Dark Lord, one of those who had fought Qatto Verg on Marnaas and had found a holomessage from Darth Pelus to Qatto Verg."

The figure was quiet for a long moment, even as the shouts of the soldiers began echoing through the icy halls of the fortress. The other lords fidgeted a little.

"A Jedi?" Naga Sadow asked at last, with some amusement. "And how are we to trust the Jedi's word?"

"The Oath of Fire is their enemy as well as ours, Dark Lord. They know this."

The shouting changed subtly; no longer was it shouts of encouragement, of orders given. It was the call to battle joined. One soldier screamed horribly, and all present felt a black surge in the Force.

Naga Sadow didn't even turn. To Ghang he only said, "Go."

Lord Ghang bared his teeth in a feral, predatory smile, not unlike those of the people of Khar Valos whose world he ruled. With this and nothing more, he leaped forward, cleanly past Naga Sadow in a flat-out run, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the stone walls.

The tapestries, the portraits, the statues, the grandeur of the Citadel of Shadows shot by him at an supernal pace, as he felt the Sith battlemind claim his consciousness, his gaze narrowing, his desire to crush Darth Pelus focussing his senses with the Force, reaching out as if by will alone he could find his quarry and crush the life out of him from --

-- There. Down this corridor, up these stairs, through this archway --

Ghang fast-drew his sword, a metal-on-metal whipcrack as he tore through the archway, onto the balcony. His pace broke only once, when he leaped onto the railing, screaming a challenge as he whipped his blade around into a plunging thrust, the dark side flaring along the length of the slender, wicked blade, his momentum carrying him over the edge of the balcony and down, down into the hall, where Lord Darth Pelus, the pureblood ruler of Daeiben, was just turning to look up with grim fury at the attacking Ghang Si'yul.

He moved, subtly and quickly as only a Lord could. Ghang's sword plunged through the purple carpet and halfway into the floor, the alchemy of his blade ripping apart both carpet and stone, almost shattering the ancient rock. He yanked the blade out of the floor, whipping it up into a parry even as one of the blades on Pelus' own double-bladed sword, unfolded now in a deadly mirror of black Echal steel, came sweeping down.

"Damn you, Ghang!" Pelus sneered. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" He swung the other end of the double-sword around, aiming the black steel for Ghang's midsection.

Ghang was quicker; his own blade blocked the eviscerating strike and a sandaled foot to Pelus's face sent that one sprawling. "Not when the Oath threatens our conquest!"

Pelus glared for only a moment as he regained his balance immediately, then moved, again, quicker than the eye could follow. Ghang was immediately after him, pursuing him down the corridor. "You don't understand, you fool!" Pelus shouted. "The Jedi will destroy everything we hold dear!"

"Only if we let them!" Ghang retorted, drawing back his sword-arm as he closed on Pelus. The Lord of Daeiben was simply not fast enough for battle-hardened Ghang.

He struck. Pelus sensed the attack, however, and leaped to the side even as the blade sang through the air where he had been. Another leap off the wall and he was coming down almost on top of Ghang, one of the blades of his double-sword set to impale the Lord of Khar Valos.

Ghang let the momentum of his failed strike carry him forward, tucking his head down into a roll and letting Darth Pelus be the one this time to shatter rock and stone with his weapon. He came to a standing position, shouting, "The madness ends here!" as his blade came up and around to decapitate Pelus.

Pelus did not have time to pull his sword out of the floor; he raised his hand quickly, gritting his teeth. The alchemically-sharpened sword Ghang wielded struck the bare hand -- and skittered off as if striking unyielding stone.

"Twenty thousand years of hate and anger has made me stronger than you can possibly imagine!" Pelus freed his sword and whipped it around in an arc aimed for Ghang, putting him on the defensive. Blow after blow upon Ghang's sword came, coming much to quick for most eyes to see, blocked just as quickly yet driving him back.

"Do you see now?" Pelus shouted. "Do you see what I cannot allow the Jedi to take away from us?"

Ghang did not know where this devil was getting his strength from; Darth Pelus was supposed to be sedentary, a scholar, not a warrior, a Lord of State. And yet here he was driving back one of the great Lords of War. Ghang gritted his teeth, putting some more strength into the parrying of the blows. No! he thought angrilly. He will not get the better of me! "I see," he grunted out, between parries, "a fool who will make our entire war effort for naught!"

He did not parry the next blow. As seemingly suicidal as it was, he hesitated, just long enough to see the light of victory come to Pelus's eyes, before dropping himself down, not even making a sound of pain as he felt the dark blade cut into his shoulder -- nor reacting when his own sword flicked up, cutting off one of Pelus's hands.

The other Lord staggered back -- to his credit, he didn't scream in pain either, merely grasped his severed wrist with his other hand as he glared at Ghang. "You don't know how much of a mistake this is," he rasped out. "You don't know what the Jedi nearly did to us, in the Heresy Wars, during the Exile. We are anathema to them. We are a mockery of everything they think they hold dear. They will not stop until every one of us is dead."

Ghang slowly and cautiously drew himself up. His shoulder screamed in agony as the sorcery imbued in Pelus's blade ate away at him, preventing his blood from properly coagulating, keeping his body from healing itself despite his most subtle workings of the Force. He focussed his pain, forming it into a lance, a sword, a needle-point of anger directed right at Pelus. "You fool!" he spat. "The Sith Empire lives or dies by this war! Revenge for a slight twenty thousand years ago will not win it for us." He brought his sword up to a ready position. Pelus filled his entire sight, was the only thing he saw, the only thing he heard, the only thing he smelled.

Pelus saw this as the final movement. He let go of his wrist, dark blood spilling onto the ground, and reached forth his hand. His double-sword leaped into his hand, seeming to appear there from nowhere. He, too, prepared it into a ready position. "Then let it be on your head, Lord Ghang," he said quietly, eyes narrowing, reddening as he himself slipped into the battle-madness. "When the Army of Light pursues you with a new Red General at their lead, I pray to the ancient gods that that you will see what I have seen through the eyes of the founders of the Oath: inutterable, impotent fear, knowing your days have ended. And there is no place to flee in Exile to from here, Ghang, there is no escape. You will know the totality of their final revenge!"

They stood there for a few moments more -- then both moved, charging forward accross what was surely only a few meters but with the battle-madness seemed like miles. An instant before they lashed out at one another, a hunter's howl escaped Ghang's throat, the call of success in the hunt of the people of the world he ruled.

Then it was over. They stood there in frozen tableau. Pelus' sword was thrust harmlessly through the folds of Ghang's cloak; Ghang's blade pierced through the belly of the Lord of Daeiben.

They were silent for a few seconds. Then Pelus gave a liquidy, rasping cough, a splatter of dark blood falling on Ghang's hand. "It... it isn't over," he whispered. "I... will be more... powerful now, and will guide the Oath to our vengeance and salvation."

Ghang closed his eyes, lips curling in a tight, grim smile. "No," he said. "I don't believe so." The smile became a snarl as he twisted the blade sharply.

Darth Pelus took a sharp inhale of breath, preparatory to scream in pain -- but the shout which came was even more agonizing, as Ghang thrust deep into the core of the other Lord with the depths of the Dark Side. All the anger at the ruination by the Oath of precise war-plans... the fear of defeat because of their stupidity... the hate of everything that made Pelus a lord of the Oath... focussed along the length of his sword, shattering the very essence of the Lord of Daeiben. Dark fire filled the room, eruptions visible only to those with eyes of the Force, cascades of vicious energies coruscating around both purebloods, until finally Ghang's fury ebbed, and the husk of what had been Darth Pelus twitched one final time and collapsed.

Ghang closed his eyes, and opened them again, the battle-madness sated, and ebbing. He straightened, pushing the corpse from his blade and cleaning it's black length on the former Lord's robes. "We will win this war," he whispered to the body, as he sheathed the sword. "The Lords of War will bring victory and survival to the Sith Empire. And you and yours will not put that into jeopardy. I will see to that."

Two of his Soulguards came rushing into the room. Ghang nodded to them, then gestured to the corpse. "Have the sorcerers ensure that there is no more trace of that one in this world," he ordered. There should not be; he had annihilated the very spirit of Darth Pelus, of anything that could have possibly become a revenant. But Lord Ghang did not do things by half-measures.

He turned; there, up on a the balcony above, stood the Dark Lord. He bowed, not letting his weariness from the battle show on his face.

"Well fought, Lord Ghang."

"Thank you, Dark Lord."

"Yes. He would not have allowed himself to be interrogated, would he."

"No, but my soldiers know who to find. Though there may be others, his branch of the Oath of Fire dies today."

"It is well, then. When you have finished your part of the purge of the Oath, report back to me. We have much to discuss on the future of the war."

"Yes, Dark Lord. It shall be done."

Naga Sadow turned, then, and walked calmly to the war-room. "The Jedi of Marnaas," he mused quietly to himself, before the shadows swallowed him once again.

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Last modified: 2002-Jul-16 16:14:54

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