Star Wars New Sith Trials II: Rise of the Hand

IC: Darth Insipid
Thereafter

The Dark Lord of the Sith, God-Emperor of the Triumvirate, Successor of Son and Inheritor of Snoke, known more plainly as Darth Insipid, released a breath of tension. He could hardly continue to manage a handful of Jedi prisoners on the off-chance they provided a counter-balance to the other Triumvirs. The Chiss reporters were nibbling at his heels, and Insipid had little doubt that some Sith was responsible.

He had killed a perfectly agreeable bodyguard and pilot in a pique of rage, but Insipid was tired. Haretisch was a Born Again Imperial, wishing he’d been present during the First Glorious Empire and eager to throw his weight between Grand Admiral Thrawn and his Empire of the Handjob.

A roll of his eyes, and Insipid strode towards his private suite. It had been a stroke of luck at all that he had picked up on the negotiations between Bellorum and this place, but even then, she and Haretisch were a way ahead of him and had already arranged this dramatic Fight to the Death, which was unlikely to be any such thing. A layer of layers of layers – not so much. More a tangle of plots and agenda among the Sith Lords. He would need to track down Skelm at some point to discuss his place in the Rule of Seven, but that would have to weight after he’d taken a shower, perhaps caught up with Ike –

Insipid grimaced as he reached the door to his room.

A casual thought, and it angered him.

Gods didn’t need paramours.

For a brief moment Insipid felt a rage fill him. Setbacks, frustrations, and outright defeats. He was a master at manipulation, a dictator of the detail, a veritable ventriloquist of the vultures surrounding him, putting the words of others in their respective mouths – as he had with Kwea. Yet it seemed that the minute calculations he was required to leverage the most devastating defeat in the history of the New Sith Order into not just survival, but triumph, was proving difficult. He had not spoken to his fellow Triumvirs in days now, and he had little idea if their own schemes had bore fruit – indeed he had little idea what Bellorum was trying to achieve at all. Not since the New Sith Civil War had the Order been so fraught with chaos…

… and all of it under his watch.

Pressing a palm to his forehead, he reminded himself that this was neutral ground. Smashing it up was quite unlikely to win him any favours with the Family, and he needed to prove himself an amicable and debonair Emperor of the Sith. The Sith Empire would be reborn within these halls, when he allowed the Order a respite and then rearranged them to seize control of the Empire of the Hand, and then nudge the Jedi to escape in the chaos and resurrect the True Empire in the Unknown Regions. Draco, Radian and T’tkura could recreate the regime that had opposed Krayt within the dispossessed goody two shoes of the Empire of the Hand – those ones who sought benelevolent rule rather than malevolent. All Insipid need do is turn Haretisch to the idea of becoming the Empire and shrug when the Jedi escaped in the chaos – failing that he’d direct his own forces to seize control from Thrawn and hand it on an aurodium platter to his fellow triumvirs.

The red mist fading from his sight, he nodded to himself. Simple. Whatever occurred here, Insipid would retain the pieces he needed to move forward with or without the approval of the majority. When the prizes were handed out at the end, they’d clamour to be apart of it – even Haretisch, Syren and Hades.

Then – Insipid gestured the doors of his suite open.

A frown as his gaze realized there was someone in his bed, and half a thought formed within him – perhaps Ike had decided to greet him. An attempt to make up with him, as they had before, and Insipid felt his heart rise in his throat, almost touched by the thought –

Then he saw what was really there.

A bloated, bleeding, corpse of himself.

Darth Insipid felt a complete and utter anger rise within him, almost to the point of agony, ripping at his very being as if his skin was warping under the enormity of the pressure that had risen within him. The desire to rid bodies of breath, to tear at the throats of innocents with his teeth, to drive a blunt blade through the chest of a man, to crush a skull between his hands, to unleash an electrical storm into the guts of this ship, overload its reactor, and consume the terror of fifty thousand people, only to snuff them all out one by one as they fled into the abyss –

His fists squeezed so tightly that his nails drew blood from his hands, his shoulders bunched so tightly that they bowed him forward, his teeth gnashed so hard that his jawline grew white with the pressure, and his eyes bulged so widely that they seemed as if they would burst free –

The Force darkened with the desire to maim, to kill, to eradicate, to commit genocide upon a small planet with nothing but his hands, to rip at the stellar matter of a star until it exploded, snuffing out a dozen systems and billions with it –

But he did not let his rage consume him.

Darth Insipid was a Sith.

Sith were not supposed to be the victims of their emotions.

Kronos and his love, Aryan and his craving for power, Haretisch and his desire to belong, Belligerent and her simple banal greed, Syren and her fear of ever, ever, being alone again, Cocytus and his need to be right, Anark and his perfection, Saadi and his shameless desire to fit in, hilarity for a shapeshifter – his rage magnified as he lost track of even the names of his underlings - that idiot Kaleesh and his speciest pride, the Ithorian and his desperation for attention, the demented Wookiee and his fatalism – at this point Insipid could not even pick out individuals within his Sith Order to hate.

No.

Darth Insipid simply regarded his desire to destroy his Order with abject disgust.

Raising a hand, calmly, slowly, inevitably, Darth Insipid gestured with the free one, bidding his clothes shed so he may shower, - as he had intended to do so - and with the raised one, he unleashed a storm of lighting upon the corpse. Upon the bed. Upon the room. He set it on fire, allowed his robes to be annihilated in the inferno, and then he, casually, waved a hand and swept the flames silent.

Turning to the en suite bathroom, he regarded his second set of clothes, lain out neatly for him to change into atop the side, and looked back at the blackened debris of the politely politicking Darth Insipid – the one who had lain in that bed and been butchered for the purposes of a prank.

No longer.

No more.

Enough, as they said, was enough.

He did not care to parse who was responsible. He would simply get even with every single Sith in the Order. He would put them all through the Beginning of the End.

As he showered, Insipid absently reflected that they had until now and the time in which the Fight occurred to enjoy themselves. Thereafter, they would be put through the ultimate test of their true natures.

They would be True Sith…

… or they would die.

TAG: Absolutely nobody


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The following is a combo post with Sinrebirth

IC: Darth Insipid and Aryan Graul
Corridor/Private Chambers, the Luxury Elite

Several Weeks Later…


His mood didn’t especially pickup for some days. But at least the God-Emperor resolved to act upon it. His vision did not suggest that he would have two beside him when he ascended and became Snoke. So there had to be resolution, and this would undoubtedly involve a discussion with both Bellorum and Haretisch.

For ultimate victory he would need them to accept their place among the Seven. Perhaps he was simply not to be among the Seven, and be above them? He bore his fellow Triumvirs no ill will, none whatsoever. There was just the path from here, to there, and where they chose to walk on it.

He did this thinking as he paced the ship. Walking through the hotel plaza with his cowl up, he was currently in a corridor of rooms connecting the higher level guest rooms and the lower ones. There were several such areas, which suited Insipid fine as it meant that he was separated from his fellow Dark Lords; increasing the Sith coverage of the Casino ships innards. However presently he was absentmindedly walking through the areas of the ship assigned to what was ostensibly ‘Haretisch’s power base’.

So engrossed in his thoughts was the God-Emperor that he almost did not notice Skelm as he approached the otherwise quiet corridor.

If you believe that you’re already a fool.

Insipid lifted his face to reveal his newly cracked face, a cheek malformed and a scar down his forehead. His eyes burned the red of the Son, though Insipid was aware that the Snoke in his vision had possessed piercing blue eyes. ‘Skelm! It is a pleasure,’ said Insipid, his voice unmistakably his own. ‘I am so glad to have bumped into you.’

A gesture across his body, all politeness and manners, and a room, not-so-serendipitously vacant presently, clicked open with the sound of a lock hit with a surge in the Force. In his other hand Insipid lazily twirled his comlink, before hitting the jammer on it. No eavesdropping from the inevitable casino listening devices scattered around the room; ‘security precautions’, no doubt.

‘Shall we catch up?’

His smile oozed pleasantness.

As luck would have it, on the very same day Zeb Targon had developed a sense of empathy and actually allowed Aryan to venture out of the suite that had served as a prison cell for almost a month – albeit, not without a tracker secured to his left ankle – he would unknowingly confront his greatest rival.

The void in the Force was perceptible even before Aryan saw the angular form of a man approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. A chill hung in the air in his wake, giving the Chancellor pause. Despite the man's gaunt features and grotesquely scarred visage, there was a real sense of power about him. It seemed to emanate from him like an electric current, causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. And then there was his voice, a soft baritone accentuated by the distinct lilt of the Core Worlds. He knew that voice all too well. By the time he perceived the figure as Insipid, it was too late to alter course or hide; a confrontation was inevitable.

With refined patience, Aryan adopted an affable grin to mirror the Emperor’s and stepped forward to meet the man he had come to despise...and in some cases, admire. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he feigned with mock enthusiasm. Subconsciously, he reached up to scratch at the month’s worth of beard growth that had filled in to obscure his face and frowned slightly. While in isolation, he found that it had been pointless to shave and maintain his professional appearance, but now that he was facing the Emperor? He suddenly felt...uncouth.

“I imagine a lot has transpired since we’ve last crossed paths,” he noted plainly, his hand moving down from his jaw to the collar of his tunic in a lame attempt to straighten it so that he looked somewhat presentable.

But despite his personal woes, Aryan was still able to acknowledge that he was treading on dangerous ground. This meeting, he realized with some chagrin, was a contest of wits. They were both perceptive enough to understand the rules of this tired game and how to successfully circumvent the system to meet their whims. For two tenured politicians, it was like an art form...but who would ultimately come out on top?

“I have to say, you surprised me,” he continued after a long pause. “I would have thought a place like this to be far too contemptible for your tastes.” A knowing grin flitted briefly over his features, almost mocking. “But then I received your curious note…”

Naturally, he was referring to the summons he had received weeks earlier regarding the Rule of Seven. He couldn’t help but wonder if this truly was a chance encounter, or if Insipid had an ulterior motive in mind. Was it all connected?

‘And rushed to meet me?’ Insipid replied, with a soft smile, ignoring the quip about his tastes. ‘Not to worry, Chancellor, I appreciate that you have ended up in a delicate position within Haretisch’s power base.’

His smiled only widened. ‘Well done, Skelm. It is a shame you lost your former master along the way, but it happens - and likely sold your deviation from your mission as a natural one .’ A liquid shrug.

Aryan’s expression soured marginally at the mention of Teafa, but he quickly recovered and managed a thin smile. It was no secret that he did not think favorably of the girl; she was mentally unsound, a mere shell of a human struggling to keep her head above the surface of life. It had been asinine to think that she could teach him, not to mention, an insult to his own intelligence. He hardly considered it a shame that he had taken the initiative to dump her at the first available opportunity. He deserved better.

Of course, he realized that Insipid was almost certainly privy to all of this as well, which is why he had decided to broach the subject in the first place. It was a test.

‘Am I to ask for a report, or shall I assume that you are too deeply embedded to answer at this point?’ Insipid was playing this with amusement, selling that he could fathom that Skelm’s acts were indeed simple efforts to ingratiate himself within the Sith architecture.

They were both politicians, and they both acknowledged who their loyalties truly were to. Insipid respected that Skelm had taken the first opportunity to break free from what had been asked of him.

For a moment a flicker of a frown caught Insipid’s brow, but he could not fathom why it had happened. A disquiet rose within him, but he pressed on, opening his expression as if he was expecting an honest reply from Skelm.

In the silence that followed, Aryan gave Insipid a cold stare before sauntering casually toward the vacant room the Emperor had set aside for their privacy. “Things have become a bit...complicated, yes,” he admitted sullenly, his tone seeming to suggest that something more was afoot. Still, he was careful to remain impassive and confident of his words. He needed to maintain some leverage. For that reason, he would refrain from mentioning Zeb Targon and the embarrassment that had led to his imprisonment.

Raising a single brow, he smiled once more as he met the Emperor’s gaze. “But I suppose that is all relative. The Night Herald is quite an enigma, after all,” he deflected with a hint of sarcasm. According to Targon, Haretisch had not taken the news of his blunder favorably. He knew if they ever escaped, there would be hell to pay.

Insipid allowed a plain smile to adhere to his features as he met the eyes of the man. ‘Yes, he is. A veritable slab of stoicism in comparison to us, but beneath that? All kinds of emotions.’

His face became blank as he allowed his mind to absently work through its thought processes. ‘But I doubt that is what ties you to him, even peripherally, Skelm. I doubly doubt he even deigns to teach you anything. You’re too like me, after all.’ His finger rose to tap his chin at the aside.

“An astute observation,” Aryan noted dryly. “For the moment, I’m inclined to take that as a compliment.” While he inwardly scoffed at the comparison, he was careful to maintain his composure. He would not allow this man to dictate his motives.

Still confused, Insipid cast his eye around the room; small, as were many of these rooms, belying an intimacy that was a matter of space and function, but it wasn’t what was setting off his mind. ‘But I could be wrong, of course. Perhaps you’ve charmed him, Chancellor.’

Insipid froze as he said the fateful title, but the Dark Lord managed to plaster a smile to his features as he turned back to face Aryan. He didn’t manage to keep the stiffness to his form, however, and his weapon hand actually twitched.

Again, Aryan felt the biting acidity of Insipid’s words, particularly the use of the title that he so coveted. In fact, the effort to get under his skin was so obvious, that he couldn’t help but give a derisive chuckle. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced, idly rubbing the wrist which previously adorned the ISIB bracelet. He evidently had more to say on the subject, but he failed to elaborate. His shame for having messed up in this instance was still too great. Instead, his expression grew solemn and his mind began to wander...

“This wasn’t a coincidence,” he announced suddenly, clearly referring to their ‘chance’ meeting. “I know how much you appreciate theatrics, but let’s cut to the chase. From one discerning politician to another, I think I deserve that much.”

Insipid tilted his head one way, and then the next. He opted to sit in the corner of the bed, leaning his elbow on his knee to prop his chin. ‘I was trying to cut to the chase,’ he said, glumly. ‘But I’m not especially sure just who I am talking to. It’s been bothering me since we started talking.’

He lazily pointed a finger, bringing a chair from the corner of the room over, positioning it such that Aryan would have to sit relatively close by.

‘Just who am I leveraging? Or applying my theatrics to.’

He held out a hand, palm up, his sleeve dangling. ‘Aryan, the consummate politician and former Chancellor of the Galactic Federation,’ a shift and he sat back, lifting his other hand as if balancing scales. ‘Or Skelm, the Sith apprentice, seeking to obtain power in the Force above all. Presently they’re mutually opposing goals.’

The Emperor placed a hand to his chest. ‘I could offer to elevate Aryan to a political position in the coming weeks - an Empire for you to command, a woman on each arm to entice you, power not just in name, for I shall require such a politician to administer what I have - but can I offer you that intimate relationship of master and apprentice that you require as Skelm? Both at once is a commitment we know I do not have time to give, not if you are to lead as a politician in your own right. A master would not befit you then - at least not the same way.’

Insipid idly touched his chin. ‘I can offer you trinkets of power, certainly, to compensate for what I could not offer you as a politician, but we both know that you would not seek to rely upon artefacts for long...’

Insipid shrugged, his hands palm up again but slightly higher than before. ‘Can you see my dilemma?’

‘Where do you fit?’

Insipid leaned forward, hands clasped.

‘Where do you want to fit?’

A soft smile, almost gentle.

The God-Emperor honestly doubted the man before him even knew; potentially he had not even realised the contradiction forming within him, personified by his two names - Aryan and Skelm.

Inclining his head, Aryan shifted his weight and regarded Insipid thoughtfully. If not for the solemnity of the Emperor’s observation, he may have found it humorous. At the very core of his argument was the insinuation that he was mentally ill, tirelessly wrestling with two different personas for control of his cognizant mind. In that, he wasn’t sure if the Emperor was genuinely trying to help him, or if he only wished to complicate things further.

“That’s a rather broad question,” he replied coolly. The hint of a smile that lightly touched his lips seemed to suggest that he was trying to pass the whole thing off as insignificant, or perhaps nothing more than a simple joke.

But despite the levity he tried to project on the situation, he couldn’t ignore the facts. He was indeed struggling with his identity and where he fit within the context of this new reality. The integration process had not been easy, especially when circumstances beyond his control had led him down a predetermined path. He had not asked to acquire the Force and he certainly did not feel as if he was suitable to train as a Sith. His sessions with the Night Herald were testament to that. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that he had been a fool for even trying. The only reason he had agreed to such an arrangement was to preserve his own life. In that sense, Skelm was a tool; a means to an end.

And now…

Aryan exhaled deeply and continued his careful study of the Emperor as he finally allowed himself to take a seat upon the chair the other man had retrieved with the Force. Regardless of his negative views of Insipid, he found that he couldn’t dismiss his keen awareness and his sense of propriety under these circumstances. Through all the turmoil, he had offered him the one thing that would put an end to his struggle – an escape.

“ ‘Where do I fit?’ ” he repeated after a moment, his expression sobering to the idea for the first time. “Not with you...not with the Sith.” The answer was terse, but not meant to offend. It wasn’t even said out of defiance; it was only the truth.

“Or rather, not as a Sith,” he quickly corrected, just in case Insipid got any preconceived notions about his intentions. “I was fairly content with our arrangement prior to the events that upset our delicate balance.” He paused here, clearly recalling the disaster on Mortis and how it had adversely shaped his future.

“But obviously,” he continued with a sigh, “we can’t bring that back, can we? Not in this environment. No one knows we exist. We are ghosts, lost in a time not our own, which is why I was naive enough to accept your offer to train as a Sith in the first place. It sounded like my only option.” He laughed lightly, shaking his head with disdain.

“It was a mistake. And now I’m stuck.”

Insipid’s gaze seemed to bore into Aryan. Aryan had taken on the identity of Skelm when the guise of Aryan failed him. But it had been intended as a mask, not a way of life.

Darth Insipid could see that, and felt the need to share. Aryan he liked, insofar as much as he liked a man who would stab him in the back if it was expedient, and so he understood what he was going through, insofar as much as he had met someone wrestling with the same issue many years ago. He quietly spoke. ‘I was once asked what the difference between being a Sith and other Force philosophies was; where the line was. The Jedi didn’t believe it was the arbitrary line between good and evil - he didn’t even know whether to believe in those labels anymore.’

Insipid closed his eyes as he allowed his memory to roll more than a full century, to just a handful of years after the Battle of Yuuzhan’tar.

‘He was asking me as an undercover mole in the Jensaarai, an old cult of Jedi that wore the apparel of the Sith, wielding the philosophy to defend what was theirs at the expense of others, and then, when they met Luke Skywalker, they had extended their responsibility to the entire galaxy, and thus eased out the conflict between the two concepts.’

Aryan felt as if he had made a mistake; had he gone too far by revealing the truth?

Raising his brow skeptically, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, cupping his chin in one hand with an air of impatience. His demeanor said it all; he had hoped for a simple answer, not some philosophical study on the vast complexities of the Force. He feared Insipid was purposely trying to expose him to theories he did not understand and had no real desire to learn, other than sparingly to further his own personal agenda. This lecture was only exacerbating his situation further.

For now, he simply prepared himself for the long haul and resisted the urge to openly express his disdain. While he listened willfully, mostly to avert a conflict, he did not expect to retain anything.

Insipid hesitated. ‘I answered as a Sith, inadvertently. That it was not about learned skills, but about an acceptance that you had to do whatever was necessary to achieve your goal. Many individuals bereft of the Force do not have the power to do that, but when you do, that ability to do all but anything to succeed is born, and the Jedi spurn it.’

You do not need the Force to recognize that natural desire, Aryan thought caustically, his expression hardening with that realization. Prior to his ‘awakening,’ he had been proof of that. He had built his political career around that very simple principle, sometimes even testing the limits of his own morality to gain success. It was how he had managed to garner so much influence over the Senate in a relatively short time. His insatiable hunger for victory, fame, and power had sustained him.

And yet, it was the Force, and by extension, the Sith, which had ultimately stripped him of that prestige and everything else he held dear. The irony of it all was not lost to him. If not for the burden of Insipid’s words, he might have laughed in his face for what he was suggesting.

It was only by a sheer act of will that he forced himself to remain calm and endure the rest of the Emperor’s speech.

‘The man looked at me much like I do now, peering through me, and into me. I stilled my beating heart, and attempted to deflect with a crass reply. The man simply turned aside, softly asking, not so much me, but of the Force, perhaps, where he would find places that would enable him to understand such a philosophy.’

Insipid was overly conscious that he’d had his eyes closed for too long a time, and that even at this proximity his danger sense would only be so useful, but so consuming was the memory, as such a disquiet had risen in the young Aden Kya that he only now recognised as a intimacy that had arisen between him and the Jedi Knight.

“I’m not seeking enlightenment,” he replied evenly when Insipid had finished. While his words were spoken with a certain level of decency, they could still be construed as a thinly veiled insult. “I’m a practical man; a realist. I went through my whole life never having to rely on clairvoyance or the extraordinary nature of the Force to embellish my sense of will or my vitality. I did it all on my own.

“While it surely has its uses,” he shrugged with a hint of a smirk, “I don’t view it as a necessity to achieve my goals. Excuse the expression, but it doesn’t feel…natural. I wasn’t born with it.”

His lips parted marginally, forming a mirthless smile. His thoughts once again shifted to all the events that had transpired since meeting the Sith several months ago – his pact and subsequent betrayal; his ascension to Chancellor; the brutality he had witnessed in the wings of battle; the horrors of Mortis and his awakening to the Force; the failed negotiation talks that had made him and his lover hostages at the hand of a notorious crime boss. With a sense of wounded pride, he realized that nothing had gone according to plan. The entire experience had left him bitter.

It was a feeling he knew all too well...

“Why would I want to focus my time on trying to understand a philosophy that destroyed me?” he ventured suddenly, his voice clearly laced with resentment. “I can make better use of my talents elsewhere.”

Insipid opened his eyes, and sat back, a smile to his lips. ‘That’s the point, my dear friend. The Sith way is a step which cannot be stepped away from. It is a line once crossed does not forgive. Adopting the guise of it, it will destroy what you seek to achieve, because, when half-hearted, you have not fully committed to your goal.’

Aryan smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Such a mollifying description,” he uttered acerbically. “It sounds like a typical career path for any prudent politician, especially one with aspirations to become Chancellor.”

A shrug. Insipid knew he’d lost Aryan to a certain extent. But that was the fact of events. He sought to use Skelm, as an identity he could shed as necessary. That was difficult, if not possible. Insipid could not ascertain just what it was that pulled upon Aryan’s soul, but he knew that he was being tugged inexorably towards the Sith.

Insipid, of course, was projecting his interpretation. He had no idea about the tryst between Skelm and Syren - and had he known, he would have emphasised that the connection she had formed was with Aryan, not Skelm - he had every understanding that Aryan and Skelm were presently incompatible.

That made him a difficult asset to wield, and he required Aryan to be clearcut. Insipid had little choice but to hold back from disclosing matters in full to Aryan, or Skelm, or whatever label the former Chancellor sought for himself. Insipid brushed at the robes atop his knees. ‘The Jedi became a Sith, a few years later, actually, after time dabbling. He died as one. Turning back from his Sith identity was impossible, by then. He was, on the basis of the decisions he had made to that point, Darth Caedus.’

Insipid went to stand. ‘If you seek the political power you did, once upon a time, then you will find it with me. If you intend to progress your descent into the Sith way - via another master, perhaps - I will not help you with such a matter until you decide what you truly want. You say to me that you dislike being cursed to be a Sith, but there is a tie to it, something within it that you want.’

‘Either you fully commit to it, or don’t.’

Aryan sat in silence for a long moment before he canted his head to the side, becoming thoughtful. “Do you know what kind of person it takes to become Chancellor?” he challenged, seeming to continue where he had left off earlier. This time, the smile did manage to reach his eyes as he rose to meet Insipid. “Not normal. Sure we may start out okay, but by the time we reach that level, we would’ve sold our soul to the devil so many times and stomped the guts out of enough people, that we become numb to everything else. We’re not like other people – the regular citizens of the galaxy – not even close. So, maybe...I do understand.”

Inhaling deeply, he pushed his hands into his pockets and narrowed his eyes. He noted that Insipid’s words had been passive, seemingly bereft of any kind of conviction. It was as if he still considered him a liability and easily subdued. Was he holding out on him because he did not believe that he could make the right choice? That he was filled with indecision?

He actually scoffed at that last part; that was a direct insult, especially for someone in his position. The implications of that mentality filled him with an implacable rage. It took all of his willpower to remain in control.

“And yet...you still try to pacify me with your rhetoric,” he accused, his voice a low rumble. “As if you believe that I am incapable of handling the truth because I cannot be coerced to fit the predetermined mold you have set forth for me. Is that why you threaten to shut me out? You dare to presume what I want?”

Stepping closer, he gazed into the Emperor’s face with a measured intensity. “I thought I had made myself clear.” He rested a hand on his chest. “You denied me my right by failing to make me Moff. Instead, you promoted that incompetent wench in my place.” Again, he silently chided himself for not ending Esmeralda’s life on Zakuul when he had the chance.

“If I am committed to just one thing, it is getting my power back. I am the Chancellor, after all. I believe I have what it takes. That is my path.”

Insipid met his gaze evenly. He allowed Aryan his rant, and he then allowed the moment of silence to drag out. Insipid sought uncertainty in Aryan’s face, in the visage of the Chancellor. He found none, just the inflamed expression of a man indignant, of a soul scorned and scornful of Darth Insipid.

After a long moment, the Emperor shrugged, and turned to leave. He was still certain that Aryan had a lot yet to work through. That he was ill-placed to choose a side in the future.

But perhaps Aryan Graul was on his path.

Perhaps.

He looked back over his shoulder as he went to go. ‘We shall see if it truly is.’

Exhaling slowly, Aryan watched the Emperor’s retreating form, his eyes hardening with contempt. The man’s reply was intentionally open-ended; once again, the answer of the great Insipid was to leave him hanging out on a limb, denied of his aspirations. For the briefest of moments, he envisioned himself surging forward with a lightsaber in his hand, hoisting the blade so that it plunged into Insipid’s exposed back.

Instead, he cleared his mind of the ill-conceived vision and simply clenched his fists at his sides, the Force augmenting the action so that he literally felt the air around him come alive with his fury. Taking a breath, he forced his voice to remain calm as he spoke.

“Stick to your end of the deal, and I’ll deliver,” he maintained with a wan smile. “I’m quite intrigued by the idea of lavishing in the riches of my own Empire.”

Insipid looked back, turning softly. He lifted the cowl of his robe again, holding his face. ‘I look forward to seeing if you will take the opportunity when you have the chance.’

The God-Emperor grinned back. ‘To chaos, and the opportunities it gives the bold, Chancellor.’ He lifted a mock glass.

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

A combo with WookieeRage!

IC: Dr Black

The doctor stepped into the med bay on Zakuul - New Moraband now - and with nod to the nurse, stepped into the room of Darth Ravenous, sealing the privacy curtain.

This itself was not abnormal. He was Dr Black, the senior medical officer in the Sith Project. However, as with all members of the hospital, they had received surgery to alter their features, replacing hair, eye colour. fingerprints and the like. So that way the doctors could act without fear of censure, and would never meet each other away from this project and acknowledge each other.

There was one such Doctor, Doctor Black now, who had been altered to look exactly like Darth Insipid - before he had become the Son, before he had adopted the guise of Snoke. It was a near perfect imitation, caused by Ike disclosing personal information to Thrawn as part of the deal which had seen him made Grand Moff.

Now this man was attending Ravenous, who himself was a project to sorts; a Sithspawn.

The Doctor flicked the light switch on; it was strictly speaking the night cycle on Zakuul. General Barrett had some late night meeting planned, but the Sith were generally marshalling after a hard day of doing whatever they do best.

Black cared not.

'High Lord Ravenous? Apologies for my intrusion.'

He was not happy to be here once more... The infirmary. The Sith-Spawn's ears perked to a familiar voice which sounded creepily identical to the Emperor of the Order. As he centered his eyes on the intruding figure, he immediately noticed the first exception in this man, the ability to penetrate the surface of his mind; Something that would be impossible for him to accomplish before the real Darth Insipid's Hilt penetrated his. With decaying tissue falling from his shoulders which was a side effect to the eating of the cooked flesh he questioned the man, not knowing his intentions or how he ended up here in the first place.

"Who are you? How did I get here?"

Then Ravenous fell into a wet coughing fit, shaking loose additional decayed flesh. He was in very rough shape.

Adopting a doctors learned smile, he spoke on. 'I am Doctor Black. Head medical practitioner here on New Moraband.'

He took a careful step forward. 'In that respect that is both the who and why of my presence. Similarly, you collapsed. I am here to ascertain what has happened.'

Dr Black revealed a datapad clipboard, plucking it from the end of the bed. 'I am obligated to enquiry about your... recent surgeries.'

"You inquire?.."

HAHAHA..

"Inquire what? What became of the Wookiee exile? Of the Madclaw, no! You have no idea what has happened to me. The pain I feel is more than one can bear without lashing out. You're lucky you are still standing doctor... I have no use here in the temple of Sith.. Of power. We were much more than we are now... We will be much more soon enough if you trust in our Emperor, Darth Insipid.

Now, if you wish to care about my transformations, you would have to.!*

*GAK*

A cough, his guts swirling.

Have to ask my maker, The Lorekeeper. His idea is me. A servant to the Empire, forever and always. I am the Sith's Hand.

Doctor Black looked unhappy. 'The Loremaster has vanished from Zakuul. Indeed he has vanished from the Empire itself. There appears to be a glut of your kind that have detached from the Order. We doctors are concerned that a collective PTSD appears to have gripped you, following whatever happened on...' The practitioner checked a note. 'Mortis.'

'I am thus obligated to check that you are, also, suitably, um,' A pregnant pause. 'Sane.'

'God-Emperor Insipid has tasked me with that before we move on.'

Mortis was a chapter he had kept to himself until the doctor reignited his passion for the death he had sought at the time. Ravenous gagged again and expelled his stomach of more flesh, the room began to become saturated in the smell of half-digested mutineers. The thought of Abeloth alone triggered this bout of stomach issues. Though he knew why he was here, he wasn't a dunce.

”Do what you will doctor, as long as I can attain more power.." The Sith-Spawn grinned through vomit swatted jowls.

The med paused. He had seen cases this severe, but whether it was a side effect of the necrotic flesh growing between the two ‘parts’ of him, who knew. With a nod, Doctor Black stepped forward, over the pieces of body on his floor - he himself had taken anti-nausea medication for years, even if his horror was palpable - flicking a switch on the display behind the Sith Lord.

‘Here we go.’

—

There were a dozen sensibilities that could have been applied to Darth Ravenous. Medical practices from across the galaxy. However, only one would resolve the discord between the two flesh’s; Yuuzhan Vong. Their expertise with the rejection of implants would have enabled the doctor to resolve Ravenous...

... but such a species did not exist in this time, nor in this place. As such all Doctor Black could do was clean away the necrotic flesh to assuage the growth of more, to vent the stomach of its more potent acids and incline it with injections designed to strengthen the walls of the lining, to remove a tangle of knots within the secondary blood network which were causing more pressure on the creatures heart - for at that moment, Ravenous appeared more creature than person - and then it was a matter of renewing the Wookiee’s extraordinary constitution with salves and so forth. Doctor Black even went to the extent of replacing the fur he cut free with a synthetic spray-on of hair, so as to manage the adjustment.

Fundamentally, however, Darth Ravenous was a creature designed to be in pain. To enable said pain, the Doctor presumed, from what little data he had on use of the so called ‘Dark Side of the Force’ to fuel his power in the same. All the Doctor could do was install a slow release painkiller, designed not to end the pain - Doctor Black was sure that Ravenous had volunteered for these modifications, after all - but to manage it better. He would leave notes with Ravenous for him to ensure he knew the item was beneath his stomach, as that was struggling the most with his... predilections. Similarly a slow release anti-nausea. Both could be triggered artificially to increase the supply, or switch it off. But it would enable Ravenous to exist, for now.

As to the psychic damage... that was difficult. The Doctor took a liberty and scanned the Wookiee cranium, seeing evidence of head trauma, and sought to alleviate that, and to clear the progression of the second web of life up his spine. Sweating by then, and assisted by a full team, Black checked the chrono; hours lost.

This was hard work.

Regardless, he took another liberty and installed a third slow-release. A mood inhibitor, to more manage an episode. At a whim, Ravenous could negate anxiety impulses with a chemical cocktail that would render him numb emotionally. It wouldn’t solve the problem, but it might give the Wookiee time to manage it...

... if he so wished.

All in all, Darth Ravenous would awake with his body cleansed, his mind clearer than it had ever been, and his ailments not gone but more manageable - he would be able to focus his anger without crippling pains, just directed, focused, ones, and he could manage his mood if he lost control. All of these were choices that the man would have to make - or not.

What Doctor Black offered Ravenous was a way forward. He did not wish to take away the choice to still be what he had clearly volunteered to be - if he wished to be a monster, he could die as one.

And, at the insistence of Thrawn, who was experimenting with the data he held in such matters, and the records of other Force using Imperials, he replaced Ravenous’ blood with a medical concoction of blood that included the artificial DNA of Darth Sidious.

Just because.

It might make him more powerful.

It might make him mad.

The Doctor omitted mentioning it in his notes about the Wookiee’s care.

The medical practitioner was not present when Ravenous’ awoke. Just a datapad, explaining everything - and leaving the location of a fast shuttle and coordinates for the Luxury Elite.

Similarly, there was a message from the God-Emperor Insipid.

’The Rule of One rules our Empire. The Rule of Seven governs our future. But the Rule of Two settles more between you and I. I have sponsored your continued living death, so that you may kill a great man for me. Once that man is dead, you may die satisfied, your failures erased from your past, and your power assured.

I would not offer this opportunity to just any of my kin. You have been with us since the start. Since before. While the rest of your colleagues fade away, one at a time, you are placed to become more than you ever were.

Come to me, Lord Ravenous, and watch the Fight of Century... before we end it all.

TAG: @WookieeRage


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GM Update 2/3

IC: Dark Lady Bellorum
Luxury Elite

The Dawn Herald had spent her morning studying financial reports compiled by Lord Hades on her pharmaceutical businesses. Then she waded through various articles reporting on research and development at those same companies. Piles of flimsi and data pads were strewn across the shimmer silk duvet. Sipping tea, she read how some of the forecasts were promising, others not so much. Her investments would fall under suspicion if they showed too much profit, but the numbers were easily forged to appear as if there were losses. It was all going as she’d planned.

She’d pushed the breakfast tray aside and rang through for VPO. While she waited she opened the drawer to her bedside table and checked the charge on the blaster pistol inside. When she tossed the bedcovers aside they scattered the stacks of flimsiplast across the bed and some tumbled to the floor. Bellorum had just slipped into her robe when VPO answered her call.

“I’ll be touring some areas of the ship later,” she instructed the droid. It irritated her that he had commed in response rather than appearing as she’d rang. “You’ll be joining me, so be where I can find you,” her voice was firm so he wouldn’t argue. “And get in here and clean up my documents while I get dressed.”

Bellorum took her data pad with her into the dressing room and sat down to apply make up. In the time she’d been onboard the Luxury Elite she’d managed to accumulate piles of cosmetics and assorted products from the shops there. The managers had sent gift baskets and goodies to those guests in VIP suites to lure them into their boutiques. She picked up a fragrance that had arrived yesterday and read the label, “an aromatic blend of maraffa twig, Beebleberry, and Wasaka-berry.” She cringed at the notes, but sniffed against her better judgment.

“Nope!” Bellorum sent the small crystal flask sailing into the bedroom and raised her voice to VPO, “throw that perfume away...it’s disgusting.” Her words trailed off as she checked some of the other bottles for something more...uh, dark and less sickly sweet.

The data pad chimed an alert for an incoming message. Bellorum unlocked the display and read Zalen’s note.

_________________

Instructions along with suite passes were delivered to Astara and Serapis, I slid them under their doors. Also stopped by the medcenter, Bo is still unconscious but stable since the surgery. It’s a shame that the anti venom wasn’t administered swiftly, but the delay was because it took several minutes to identify the breed of arachnid that bit him. Apparently Astara squished it beyond recognition after it had implanted its stingers. The physician said the amputation was successful and Bo should heal minus his dignity.

Will meet at the designated time for the tour.

Z.
_______________

The Dawn Herald had been feeling generous, so she sent Serapis and Astara tickets to the big prize fight. She had no intention of attending, and was frankly sick of the hype leading up to the damned thing. She had been provided with seats in a VIP viewing box next to the suite where the owners of the Luxury Elite would be watching from. The family had given her the use of the viewing suite for the fight and she figured someone should take advantage of the excellent seats. Zalen had delivered her message and the tickets while she prepared for other appointments.

____________

Bellorum studied herself in the mirror before carefully pinning her hair into place. The box she kept her hairpins in would only open with her finger prints. They had been made for her mother, and she always wore them. Once she secured her hair, she prepared a message for Hades and Leda:

‘Meet me in four standard hours at lift 66 for the tour.’

They had discussed plans last night.

She stood and went to retrieve a heavy bantha hide case from above the clothing racks. She placed it on the chair and touched her fingertips to the security pad. The latches clicked and she lifted the lid to check the contents.

They were exactly the same as the last time she’d checked...and every other time she’d checked over the last eight weeks. She closed the lid and replaced the case for now and went to see if VPO had done as she’d ordered.

Tag: @E. L.Knight, @QueenSabe7 @dragonsith13 @WookieeRage @Snokers

 

GM POST 3/3

IC: Esmerelda
Two months later, in a suite by the arena roughly an hour before the fight

It had been a private room, offered to her, Kronos and a select group of elites within Lord Insipid’s powerbase.

Darth Anark had been invited, though he had been conspicuously absent during the last two months. It could be said that Kronos was one of the very few outside of the hierarchy that had not been horrendously mentally scarred by the events of Mortis, which still continued to reach into the Sith Order.

Lorekeeper, Titus, Manticore, Hesper, perhaps now Anark. All Lords that had over time wandered off into the great Unknown and not returned. What horrors that Abeloth and then Typhojem has performed upon them all were deeply personal to them, but the newest of the Sith among the Order had been in their formative stages, and able to push through and beyond the trauma. Those higher up had been more formed, and the event had seemingly shattered them as a group. Of course, there was then a group one level higher than those that appeared immune to such damage - Insipid, Haretisch, Bellorum - or those who had been quiet and longer members of the Order than even some of the triumvirate - such as Hades or Draconis. They had also been so sure of themselves that they had been able to repel the horrors that the greatest of the Old Ones had bestowed upon them.

Esmerelda, for her part, had Kronos.

But then they were joined by someone who personified the harm that the Sith would reap upon themselves; the literal embodiment of self-mutilation that was Darth Ravenous.

Esmerelda checked her comlink. A summons in her function as Moff. A slight concern filled her. Insipid had given explicit instructions to Kronos in his position within the Rule of Seven to not leave the private suite - complete with reclining sofas, a private bar, holovid display of the fight, and a semi-naked Zeltron manservant - until summoned.

Insipid was alone in his own suite across the club, the club itself full of revellers and all manner of species. One of four such suites, them in one themselves, but the other two Esmerelda could not comment on. But as Ravenous arrived - with similar instructions to Kronos - Esme received a message of summons from Darth Haretisch in her guise as Moff; to attend the private box of the Family and represent Imperial interests within the same. She would be free to return to her suite before the Fight began.

Esmerelda bit her lip.

‘I’ve been called upon by Haretisch, my love.’ Esme interrupted Ravenous before he spoke. She knew Kronos would be unhappy; she was unhappy. Anark might yet arrive, but she clearly had to go; the Fight was going to start in less than an hour. To traverse the ship and get back would take about that time if she was to make it back for the Fight. Instructions had been very precise from all three of the triumvirs that any effort to interfere with the bout would be met with severe and terminal reprisals, so Esme was not concerned for herself, so much as she was concerned for Cassian.

The message beeped for acknowledgement. Haretisch was being insistent - even conspicuous, using new contact information to ensure she had not muted his prior contact details, as many had within Insipid’s power base. Priority was to be made for all Triumvir contact, true, but an informal separation had occurred between the three Dark Lords, for ease of management. It was possible to walk between the three groups, as Skelm had shown, without consequences, but often comfort led to Sith staying as they were. Strictly speaking Esme was surprised to see Ravenous interacting with Kronos - they never formally had, as she recalled.

Another beep.

‘Fine! I’m going.’ She quickly kissed Kronos, squeezed his hand - she could hardly tell him to be careful in front of Ravenous, she had to appear like she was in total control as Moff, and that they were not vulnerable in the slightest - and left.

The bartender, wiping clothes, regarded Ravenous but found it safer to watch Esme go. ‘That’s a might fine lady you have there, Lord Kronos, if I may say.’

—
In the arena

The arena itself was already proving quite busy, and Insipid had tasked those he commanded in securing the seats beneath the Box, which the Family and a select group of other Sith had been called in to ingratiate the Empire with - almost exclusively members of Lord Haretisch and Lady Bellorum’s groups.

Soliloquy had the informal mission of corralling the lesser minions of the Order, but his Seven orders were to attempt to monitor the meeting between the Family and Skelm, Syren and the others, thus the order to secure seats an hour before the fight, as naturally as possible. That meant dragging the group through the ticket booths, the vendors in the halls, and the like. The Sith has been bequeathed a bonus amount of credits to allow them to purchase mementos, drinks, food and whatever drugs they felt necessary to enjoy themselves.

Among them was Cocytus, Saadi, Mallace, and the Tusken that Insipid had never learned the name of, but Insipid expected that they needed to secure double the amount of seats for the other Sith to join them. The higher ranks within the Order had their own suites, as an acknowledgment of status and jockeying for power, but Insipid had forbidden Soliloquy from joining such efforts - not that a droid body cared about such affairs, and probably not a Sith of Soliloquy’s standing. Even the Emperor AI was silent for most of the time, viewing this event as a triviality in the greater scheme of matters.

When they arrived, a pair of Codru-Ji had taken up the seats, laying their coats and items across multiple seats to secure them for their relatives, but a causal Force touch would reveal them to be criminals, and within their multiple sleeves were various knives and holdout blasters. They would thus need to be dissuaded - quietly.

In general, everyone was in their place, save for Esmerelda, who was crossing the ship’s length.

Darth Insipid raised a glass to them all, and regarded his chrono.

Any moment now.

TAG: @Darth Kronos, @WookieeRage, @Snokers, @Mostlymad, @Darth Cocytus, @Dagobahsystem, @Mitth-Fisto


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GM UPDATE 2 OF 3

(Combo post with Sinrebirth and Darth_wanderguard)

Dawn Herald
her private suite on the Luxury Elite



Over the last few weeks Bellorum had redecorated her living space to make it more uniquely her own. She stood at a floor to ceiling viewport in her bedchambers and studied the Revelator. Seeing it was like a nagging reminder of his presence. The damned thing always seemed to be floating there obstructing her view.

She crossed the room and refilled her empty wine goblet from the small bar, then pressed a button on the wall panel nearby. Bellorum was back to stare at the flagship of her erstwhile lover when her lady’s maid appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Dawn Herald,” the neatly dressed young woman inquired as she entered. “Draw my bath and then I’ll be ready to dress,” Bellorum answered without turning away from the viewport. Her lip twitched as she continued her contemplation of the Revelator and hated it for blocking out the beauty of empty space. Sighing she sat down the goblet and went to the bathroom.

Amara had filled the walk in tub with steaming water and was adding handfuls of scented flowers and herbs. Bellorum sat at her vanity and Amara came over and removed the hairpins Bellorum always wore. She was careful not to prick her skin and was all too aware that some contained deadly poison. Since there was no way to know which ones were lethal, Amara made a point to handle them as little as possible and to never make the mistress angry.

After brushing Bellorum’s loose hair, she secured it up with clips and stepped silently aside. The Dark Lady walked to the tub and unbelted her shimmersilk robe and let it fall to the black marble floor to form a pool of Tyrian purple at her feet. She slowly descended the marble steps into the bath and breathed in the relaxing fragrance. Amara returned with a tall glass of chilled fresh juice and a small serving dish of berries that she placed beside the tub.

Bellorum settled into the lounge built into one side of the tub and leaned her head back against a small pillow positioned on the edge. She closed her eyes for a moment and in an effort not to overthink her plans, she found herself thinking about the events that had occurred since arriving on the LE.

She never imagined how perfectly the mission involving the RMB Intergalactic Gem Show would be executed. The debut of her Elite Twilight Guard had been flawless. Bellorum had personally met with representatives from RMB and the Royal Houses of the Hapes Consortium and Royal Court of Onderon to detail how her Elite Guard had surrounded and engaged the criminals as they attempted to exit through a closed hangar. She’d explained how the thieves fired upon her guard and they in turn eliminated the majority of the men. A small group had escaped with the goods they carried, but her guard had been able retrieve the jewels and antiquities belonging to the Royals. The representatives were astonished and expressed their relief before rushing off to inform their people that the Dawn Herald had saved the day. Later that same day she was presented with lavish gifts and handsome rewards from the Royal Houses and the CEO of RMB had sent her a dazzling necklace and an invitation to dine with his son. That last thought made her laugh and look over to check the chrono on her vanity. She’d better stop dallying.

Later she stood before a mirror in the bathroom while Amara placed the necklace from RMB around her neck and secured the clasp. Bellorum angled her shoulders to watch the stones sparkle as they caught the light and reflected off the mirror. Her mood hadn’t been this playful and light since... well, since she’d arrived in this ridiculous time. Amara held the silken tunic while she slid her arms in and waited for the lady’s maid to fasten the black pearled buttons. Once she was dressed she sat while the woman put on the boots she had chosen for such a special occasion.

Once she was dressed and her hair styled, she dismissed Amara and returned to the viewport just as the bloody Revelator drifted back across her view.

Nothing would ruin this day. Nothing.

————————

She’d just checked her chrono when sounds came from the front of her suite. VPO had admitted Leda and Hades and she heard them as they neared her sitting room. She waved the door open as an invitation to enter, and checked her comlink. Everything was quiet, which meant everything was going according to plan.

Bellorum smiled as Leda and Hades walked in. She was sitting beside a large viewport with stacks of documents and datapads piled on a low table in the center of the seating area. Clearly the focal point was to be the large view of space, which was normally lovely when not obstructed by ships hovering near the packed LE. It seemed like everyone with a few credits in their pocket had turned up for the events leading up to and including the big fight.

The Dark Lady had just stood to speak when a brilliant flash lit up the viewport and the LE rocked. The three stood in silence watching as the Revelator, flagship of the Night Herald, exploded. The flash had subsided and given way to the star destroyer crumbling. Sections splintered off while other portions simply crumbled inward and then spewed bodies and debris.

Bellorum blinked and stood staring.

“Well,” she said to Leda and Hades, “how unfortunate for Haretisch.” She shrugged and with a smirk continued, “I hated the name of that thing... like he named it after a sex toy.” She turned away from the viewport and walked out of the room completely unaffected by what she’d just witnessed.

Bellorum had expected Hades and Leda to follow, and they had but were no doubt wondering what in the seven hells they had just watched. “VPO!” Bellorum called out for the droid, “let’s go.”

They proceeded to a nearby lift that wasn’t available for public use. Bellorum had used to comlink to summon it the moment they had left her suite and it was waiting for them. Before the lift doors closed the Dark Lady raised her comlink to her lips and said, “execute A New Dawn.”

She raised her hand and the lift doors closed on a smiling Bellorum.

Across the ship, in the suite housing Zeb Targon and the rest of the family, a bomb detonated. Zeb himself was the first casualty as the floor split directly beneath his feet. Before the whole of the room was engulfed by the blast, keen eyes would see Darth Alva impaled through the throat by shrapnel. Grievance Vexx would be thrown upward and flattened momentarily against the ceiling before tumbling back and landing beside the fissure, still breathing. Aryan Graul would find himself dazed and scorched and battered by rubble but otherwise miraculously intact, while Darth Syren would be pinned beneath the slaughtered, charred and bloodied remains of Ryn, and would survive by grace of a human shield. Roscoe died where he stood, internal organs liquified by the proximity to the shockwave even before his body was thrown through the now broken viewport and into the crowd below. Auspa was the last to draw breath, pinned against the wall at the waist and stooped over the bar which had detached from the wall and swept through her path. She let loose a groan, and then was gone. The roar of a crowd fifty thousand strong swelled as mass hysteria set in.

As the order to execute A New Dawn trickled to each security post, forces mobilized for the Dawn Herald with a single purpose in mind, and within a short time any not loyal to her would be beset on all sides by armed hostiles.

Bellorum sneered with glee as the lift doors opened to the bridge. She had won. In truth, she had won months ago, the moment funds secured via the jewel heist had been used to pay off the LE security team. The ship had been hers for nearly two months now - she had only had to wait to get rid of The Family until it was convenient. Of course now there was one other order of business remaining.

A line of security troopers stood at attention as the Dark Lady took the bridge with Leda and Hades at her flanks, while VPO followed behind.

“Captain, open a line. I wish to address all the denizens of my new ship.”

Moments later, the intercom would crackle to life in every corner of the Luxury Elite.

————————

Good evening, patrons. Ladies and gentlemen. Shameless, filthy wretches. I am afraid the evening’s planned entertainment has been cancelled. In its place, you will witness an ascension. A coronation. I am your Empress now. Herald of Dawn and Queen of Twilight. And I will suffer no blemish to my domain. In a few moments, you will see the parasitic, bloodsucking worms known as Darth Insipid and Darth Haretisch, and all those loyal to them, purged from my sight. Do not interfere. Lay down any arms you may possess and you shall not be harmed in the purification of my empire.

—————————-

When she was done, she opened a private line to Serapis and Astara.

The blast you just heard nearby was by my own design, and you know now your placement was not simply for leisure. Go. Check the wreckage, and ensure there are no survivors.

With a deep, satisfied breath, she raised two upturned, gloved hands as if to gesture all around, and her eyes would show an evil glint. She looked to Hades and Leda.

“What shall I call it?”

————————

The Codru-Ji resolved, but before they group could fully settle in, the Force sung with danger. A moment later, an explosion rang out in the box above their heads - hurling burning debris and bodies into the crowd and upon them.

When they cast their eyes up, they would see that most of the box was still complete, but a gaping hole had appeared. One of the neighbouring boxes sagged and was tipping, but the Force sang with conflict in the box, and the sounds of lightsabers igniting.

An attack on the Sith?

The crowd had gone into a panic, but their attention would be split in two. The first bout of wreckage had flattened the seats beyond the Sith down here, cutting them from the crowd in earnest, but at either end of the row of seats danger would ripple out; at one end was Bellorum’s Nightsister, Zalen, and the other, Ike, the God-Emperor’s ex-paramour. Both of them were flanked by a pair of gruesome looking thugs, all scarred Rodians. Ike flashed a smile and slapped a whip on the floor.

‘Gentlebeings, time to pick a side or die, my friends. It’s a coup. And you’re on the wrong side of this.’ He held out a hand to Saadi and squeezed for the throat. Zalen cackled and unleashed a lightning bolt from her paired hands at Mallace.

In the middle of this, Rook would receive a message, signed off by High Lady Hesper but from a new account, much like the message to Esmerelda. ‘Kill Soliloquy, apprentice. He’s only a droid.’ That was a bit of an understatement as he was in a recon assassin and infiltration droid body. More than a little dangerous. It seemed Hesper had picked a side, impossibly swiftly.

For Esmerelda’s part, she could hear the explosions. She had been focusing on her nausea at being away from Kronos, unconsciously touching her stomach as she went. It was not that Esmerelda didn’t trust Haretisch, it was more that she didn’t trust any of the triumvirs. It was all moot, when the explosion happened and Esme knew that she had to get back to Kronos, her anxiety level spiking. But she thought not of herself but of Cassian, conscious that he would pick up on her feelings and if this was a concerted attack on the Sith it would distract him. She focused on calm, collected determination - and started heading back towards him, not running but maintaining a quick pace as the crowd began to mill away from the arena and the pending fights.

TAG: Everyone

 

GM post 3 of 3

IC: Antares Draco
Aboard the Revelator, minutes earlier

The time had come, and Antares Draco took no time to flourish his hands, snap off their binders, and turn to cut through the emitters to the energy barriers on their cells - which abruptly switched off.

Draco smiled darkly at Radian and T’tkura. ‘It seems it is time to go.’

An explosion rang out, and the ship shook; alarms rang out, and the Force sung with danger. Stormtroopers clattered nearby, as Draco heard his lightsaber speak.

A concealed comlink? All three of their weapons spoke up. It was Delpin, the mole that Insipid had to hand. ’Coordinates to the flag hangar. Hurry, the reactor will go soon.

Draco’s grin grew wolf-ish.

Stormtroopers were no problem; especially not Sith loyalists. A shuttle was indeed waiting for them. The only vessel left in the flag hangar.

Of course, the half a dozen Sith troopers before them did their duty to Darth Haretisch and raised their blasters at the three of them. More would join them, even as others fled.

Duty, Draco reflected. It gets you every time.

He would settle on vengeance upon Aryan.

—-
Outside

It was a small ship, by Imperial standards. Six hundred meters long; a Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser, the kind of design which had served the Old Republic for a century, based upon a Mandalorian design.

But it was emblazoned, on either side of its hull, with the circle symbol of the First Order.

The ship stayed silent, ignoring the queries of any officer aboard the casino ship; it did not interfere with it.

Yet another backup plan, it seemed.

While Kwea burst free, the cruiser - incredibly - identified itself as friendly to her, and prepared to ambush anything which had fled Haretisch’s destroyed Star Destroyer with tractor beams, ideally, and turbolasers, if not.

When Kwea made it to the hangar with the Tusken’s ship, and the two shuttles that had brought the Sith of Insipid’s faction to the LE, she would discover the hangar was a firefight already. Stormtroopers loyal to Insipid were being attacked by a motley band of thugs and ruffians, spearheaded by a trio of Besalisks with oversized blasters in each hand, keeping the half a dozen troopers pinned down while a pair of Rodian sharpshooters picked them off one at a time. The troopers were being driven back, and the shuttles were at risk. Kwea’s mission was clear, and then a familiar droid voice chimed in.

It was K9.

‘Oh mistress! Thank the maker you are coming to save me! I’m trapped in our shuttle. They’ve used some kind of code to lockdown the guns and I can’t incinerate our enemies!’

TAG: @Halle Dray, @ConservativeJedi321, @dragonsith13


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IC: Darth Insipid & Darth Haretisch — Luxury Elite. Combo post with Darth_wanderguard.

It had been hard for Darth Insipid to maintain his poise. Affecting an air of dis-interest while the storm in the Force came to the door of the private suite he had in the Blue Moon Cantina, with his drink being refilled by the all-but naked Zeltron paramour who the crew had supplied.

He was garbed in the robes that had marked him as a Sith Lord for a century, and the only concession to his anticipation had been a handful of prerecorded messages he’d sent out, and a twitch of his foot, which he could not appear to stop. So many cards were up in the air - and so many were in play. He didn’t have any idea what Darth Bellorum was up to, and, seemingly, he’d completely failed to distract Haretisch.

The fight he’d been waiting for was upon him. More than the perfidious Darth Wyyrlok, the arrogant Vincent Mikaru, the defiant Marcus Dade, the elegant Lady Mystique, and more than even the bastard Darth Dreadwar, this fight was one he had anticipated with a delicious combination of both dread, excitement and melancholy.

It was the end of their relationship.

The one they had forged as Triumvirs.

Now it was War.

‘Jac,’ Insipid softly whispered as the Zeltron man servant stepped to him. The God-Emperor flicked his eyes; the suite had two entrances - one to the rear, which the program monitor hung above, and he was faced too, a curved sofa occupied by just him, and one strictly speaking behind him, though the couch could turn on tracks to face the main entrance which went into the club in earnest. To his left was a bar of sorts, occupied by none but Jac when he went around there to serve a drink.

He mentally checked his weapons. Three; none of which he was immensely proficient with. But he still had himself.

‘Yes, my Lord?’ Jac said, puzzled somewhat. Insipid hadn’t used his name once before now. Not in the hours in which he’d locked the suite doors and allowed Jac to serve him.

‘I’m sorry about this, but could you step to the right by half a meter?’

Jac quietly did so. ‘Like so?’

‘Thank you, Jac.’ Insipid rolled his shoulders and reached out with his mind to unlock the main doors behind him.

‘Sir?’

A wicked grin came to Darth Insipid’s lips as he drew his lightsaber hilt to his hand. ‘Good bye, Jac.’

The Zeltron had a moment of complete and abject fear, a terror which Insipid drunk in like a horror from the depths, imbibing on the emotions of Jac.

In the next instance the man was on the floor, shredded by the debris that blew inward. The monitor above the doors spun away, crashing to the side of Insipid. The explosion of Haretisch’s entry threw up glass and blood and even feathers from the dashed cushions of the couch, and Insipid gestured a hand lazily to bat it aside and clear the path between him and Darth Haretisch. His feet were already tucked slightly beneath him, and so, without another word, Darth Insipid pushed forward off the floor and rocketed forward, taking up his blade in both hands and cutting for the Sith Lord’s neck with a blow which involved no finesse and just power.

It was anathema to everything Insipid stood for - a brutal attack with none of the hallmarks of his nature or perspectives in war. Nothing was politic about the slash, it was just an intention to kill. To end it.

The attack slammed to a halt before it met its target, blocked. The Night Herald’s boot heels made faint impressions in the floor for the force of the attack, and he gripped his blade so tightly that the leather of his gloves began to whine. He pushed forward. Insipid was finesse, manifest in the flesh, but Haretisch was something else. Raw strength, force of will, reckless abandon. He slipped the bladelock, stepping inward for leverage, and twist his body, crashing downward and across with an elbow. Win or lose, he would extract a pound of flesh - bit by bit.

Insipid growled as his attack was slowly turned back, he cast his senses outward, and found plenty, and in that moment Haretisch slipped the lock. Insipid was already stepping back, but the elbow cracked across his cheekbone, splitting the bone and cracking the skin.

Good.

This should hurt.

Insipid took the momentum and twirled away, ducking down and his cloak sprawling out. A flick of a hand as he spun sent the couch on its rails to rest at the corner of the room, and as he spun back to face Haretisch he took another step back and grabbed at the bar, squeezing his fist as he went to shatter the handful of bottles there and then sweep his hand to send the jagged stream at where he sensed the Night Herald was.

He had no intention of standing still, and to attention, fighting a force-to-Force battle. He would leverage his victory, and batter down Darth Haretisch with a thousand cuts.

With a curl of the Force he allowed the holdout blaster on his left, outstretched arm to snake into his hand. It was a shrapnel gun, designed to fire pellets of razor sharp metal rather than bolts of energy. He held it in his voluminous sleeve, not yet in his left hand.

Haretisch found himself sideswiped by the couch, and as it carried him into the wall his breastplate cracked like an eggshell. The couch itself rebounded a short distance and rolled up on its side, and it was by the grace of this fact that he was able to duck behind it and take cover while jagged glass bulleted past and shattered against the wall. His breath caught in his throat. His ribs were broken.

Clenching a fist, he captured the now ruined couch and flipped it upright, finding his footing. His lightsaber came to life again with a snap-hiss as he pushed the couch forward to cover his advance, strafing subtly to the right. He would put Insipid into a corner, force him to stand and trade. Where the God-Emperor’s advantage was cerebral, the Night Herald’s was in pure savagery.

Insipid swore, feelingly. Haretisch was keenly turning his obstacles into levers. With a degree of disgust at events, Insipid applied a twist of his will to his lightsaber, and threw it, end over end, intending to split the couch and Haretisch in two. Tossing aside the pistol in his left hand, Insipid gestured the blood and glass and alcohol on the floor away from his feet, and turned his wrist, allowing his final weapon - his original silver bladed lightsaber which has served him so well over the years - into his right hand.

Regardless of what the response of Haretisch was, Insipid stepped back, towards the rear doors so they were a mere leap away, one more time, and held his lightsaber low and to the side, his left hand tucked behind the small of his back. A brawl of objects was too fickle a battle - Haretisch was becoming more used to his tactics now.

And so Insipid would draw him into a lightsaber fight, in what should in theory be a dangerous move. Insipid went to efforts to push his former lightsaber out of his mind - but was also aware that, too, was also a tactic that Haretisch was aware of to a certain extent.

Insipid allowed a wicked grin to draw his cheeks up, his twisted visage making it monstrous. Playing out the steps, one by one.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard


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IC: Darth Insipid
Injured, on the dance floor

The God-Emperor hurt. Not just a little; a lot. The Night Herald has wounded him, but he lived. It had been a tantalising fight. But Insipid acknowledged that the man was probably the former Night Herald, now.

That left the Dawn.

Insipid had positioned the apprentices and Soliloquy by the spectator boxes in the arena, intending to deploy them to attack Haretisch’s group, once he was clear as to Skelm’s loyalties. That was decidedly unclear, presently.

But Insipid could sense a shift in the Force, and more pandemonium than he had anticipated; Ike’s glee, Zalen’s satisfaction, consternation between others in the box, intermingled with surprise, and deception. He had intended to drive a few fictitious wedges here and there to make animosity into violence in the chaos, but now it was considerably more devastating.

Insipid stumbled into the crowd, which was beginning to realise, over the beat of the music, that there was a bloody, battered man tumbling among them. Enough. He reached out, and the stereo system exploded; glasses throughout the room burst; but his effort wandered due to the gauze of pain crossing his mind, and a handful of patrons turned inside out at the gesture of his fingers.

Screaming ensued, and it Insipid took all he had to reach out, hard, and blow apart the doors to the suite he had reserved for Kronos and Ravenous. The room began to empty, and he projected his voice. ‘Haretisch attacked me. He has betrayed the Sith. He is more wounded than I -‘ Insipid coughed, tasted blood, and leaned on the bar. ‘Kill him.’ Certainty gripped him, and he intoned.

‘Kill him now.’

Insipid appeared to ignore whatever they said, and wound his comlink up. ‘First Order Dreadnaught Peacekeeper, please confirm that you are system; the time is now.’

Darth Insipid smiled at them, met Kronos’ eye as he spoke the words ‘First Order’, and went to leave as the crowd dispersed, leaving the way perfectly open for them to pursue the bloody stain that belonged to Darth Haretisch.

The Dreadnaught cruiser captain was assured that Insipid would shortly control the Luxury Elite, as the surprise from his coup would be total. The destruction of the Revelator was the sign of the war to begin.

However the God-Emperor had not anticipated that his Dawn Herald and former paramour would launch their own coup. And thus the war had began even before Insipid started it...

... but who would win it?

—
Moments later

Darth Insipid found himself ambling down the corridors of the ship, people running around, generally screaming. Insipid was detached from the battle, and knew he needed to reconnect.

The fight itself had been short but exhausting, and he found himself leaning on the walls as he went, leaving blood behind as he went. He had no illusions that he’d drained a great deal of his stamina on a fight he would have gladly recorded and watched a thousand times over.

He was nearly too the console and he rued not having secured a direct link to the ship’s internal tannoy system before he arrived. The First Order had a few hundred stormtroopers ready to deploy at his say so, but he had to say so.

His Force senses stirred. Cocytus was coming; determination was evident, and Insipid had a brief moment of wondering if the Kaminoan was coming to kill Darth Insipid. No, the Force told him that was not the case, but he was conscious that a limping God-Emperor of the Sith may be too tempting for any Sith.

Fingering his lightsaber, he ignited the silver blade and used the Force to prop himself up. Insipid would appear completely fine, though were to facade to slip, Cocytus would detect his relative weakness. Darth Insipid just hoped that he had created the illusion of strength before Cocytus had sensed his weakness...

‘Darth Cocytus,’ barked Insipid. The Kaminoan was closer to what Insipid has been travelling towards. ‘Hold that position.’ Insipid sensed a flurry of activity down the corridor behind him, and the God-Emperor took strides forward. He reached Cocytus momentarily - and the console beside him. Insipid cast a glance over his shoulder, wincing at the trail of blood smeared across the wall before Insipid had stood properly. ‘Incoming, defend your Emperor!’ Insipid exhorted Cocytus.

True to his words, a trio of humanoids were running down the corridor, each brandishing what appeared to be a Force pike of some kind, nimbused with energy. These must have been what Bellorum had paid to kill Insipid. Insipid could taste blood on their weapons; Sith blood. Who had they killed? Anark was missing, Hesper too, though she had vanished shortly after arriving aboard with his group. As they closed, Insipid recognised a golden armour to each of them, similar to the old Imperial Royal Guard.

Sun Guards.

A ruthless mercenary organisation, which Palpatine had destroyed. Seemingly they had not been, and Bellorum’s underworld contacts had hit pay dirt.

‘Kill them, Cocytus.’ Insipid felt pain shudder through his voice, as his tone dropped, but the God-Emperor managed to twist it into a sinister whisper. ‘Kill them now.’ He omitted to mention that Darth Haretisch has also acted against Insipid - let him assume that Cocytus acted on behalf of two of the Triumvirs.

The issue forgotten, Darth Insipid, the man who would win, turned to the display, keying in a handful of keys. The system was not encrypted; that would have been good. He keyed the tannoy.

—-
The arena

While threats abounded around Soliloquy, a message arrived for him. From Thrawn.

The blue eyed Chiss had sent it as text only, from a scrambled account. ‘It behooves me to require you to support Insipid in these dark days. I have just been informed that civil war has broken out among the Sith. Without Insipid, Haretisch will inevitably turn his eyes to my throne, and I do not intend to allow it. Bellorum is beyond saving, so fetid is her connection to the criminal underworld.’

The word fetid stuck out. The Emperor AI highlighted it red, and the scrambled comm originator, and then interjected. ‘The First Order has arrived to support Insipid. We cannot keep our bargain without Thrawn...’ if it was possible for a droid to sound thoughtful, it did now. ‘I have hooked into the mainframe remotely, and unlocked the safeguards on various terminals and comm channels that your Emperor needs access to - truly, he is not mechanically minded - but it all feels far too... serendipitous for us.’

Attached to the message was footage of a HRD droid being constructed for Soliloquy, in utmost secrecy, and a handful of images of the proposed facial structure, and indeed gender. Choices, surprisingly. Thrawn was seemingly endeavouring to be true to his word.

Such interaction too a handful of milliseconds, as it would.

Then a further message. From Insipid, on his standard channel. The AI rolled its eyes in Soliloquy’s minds eye, and applied an encryption to it. Using his old channel was tantamount to stupidity. Coordinates - the hangar remained under their control, and there was an order to regroup there and receive support from the outside; First Order Stormtroopers.

They were to defend the beachhead and then purge the ship. Surprise had been expected to be total, from the prerecorded message, but the AI snorted, expecting that said plan did not factor in Bellorum launching her own organised coup.

The AI noted the recipient list.

Anark, Soliloquy, Ravenous, Rook, Mallace, Saadi, Kwea (who was already en route to the said hangar), Kronos, Esmerelda, and, impossibly, Skelm.

A short addendum confirmed that Cocytus was a friendly. Amusing.

The AI spoke, briefly.

More milliseconds, as the fight held its staccato stalemate before the droid body.

—
Speech

Darth Insipid had heard Bellorum’s declaration beforehand, and while he’d originally intended to give a ‘surrender or die’ speech, the God-Emperor knew that he had to give something all the more dramatic now. He sensed Ike, Zalen, and others acting in concert, and Insipid found the console he had accessed allowed him to peer through all manner of camera.

Insipid agreed to thank Soliloquy for his aid. He wasn’t stupid.

Clearing his throat, Insipid keyed the terminal.

‘Members of the Sith Empire. As you may now be aware, the triumvirate is broken. Darth Bellorum has made her announcement as ‘Twilight Empress,’ Insipid injected derision into his voice. ‘But I can also confirm that Darth Haretisch has just attempted to kill me, following the Jedi destroying his flagship. I can only assume that Bellorum is in collusion with them, following the timing. With two Jedi Masters and an Imperial Knight, Antares Draco, both of which survived our timeline.’

Darth Insipid savoured the revelation. ‘Sadly, I have been required to prepare myself for such a Betrayal. While Bellorum digs into the gutter and bathes in the filth of the criminal underworld, Haretisch puts Order and Peace ahead of our own goals as true Sith. Yet another betrayal from Lord Haretisch, after we gave him a second chance after the Mortis debacle.’

Haretisch was always the easy one to finger. Bellorum had completely devastated Insipid’s plans. Twisting it so the Jedi were not associated with him but with Haretisch would have been hard, so he had made to blaming Bellorum.

‘Those preparations required me to align myself with the First Order, who have been battling with the Empire of the Hand in this region, as you all know. I furnished them with sufficient information to thwart Thrawn’s plans for us in subduing Zakuul for him, to make us a cog in his loyalist regime.’ Insipid sounded pained. ‘It was a necessary treachery, necessary to save us from servitude to Thrawn. I regret it, and all the treacheries we have now suffered.’

Insipid was conscious that battles were going to be breaking out across the ship. He had to wrap it up.

‘But the First Order; it needs us. It has no leaders, no grand design. I have offered my services to them as Supreme Leader, and they have accepted, with the intention of us guiding them. The Rule of Seven will give us the ability to secure their future for ourselves; to administer the territory they intend to seize, to generate true power for ourselves - not as sham Imperials seeking order and peace.’

‘For we are Sith!’

‘To our True Empire!’

‘To me!’

Insipid cut the channel and sagged slightly, his knee giving way. The Supreme Leader turned to Darth Cocytus, glancing back to see how he was faring as he spoke. Insipid doubted that Cocytus would side with Haretisch, but he may as well be sure...

He reactivated his lightsaber, either to assist Cocytus or to battle him.

TAG: @Darth Kronos, @WookieeRage, @Darth Cocytus, @Dagobahsystem, @Mostlymad, @Halle-Dray, @Mitth-Fisto, @Snokers, @corinthia, @HanSolo29, everyone




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GM Combo Update with @Darth_wanderguard

IC: Hel and Cal Jepsun
the Revelator

“Awwwww, come on, Dr. Cal,” Hel wasn’t quite begging, but maybe close. “It’s opening night and I managed to score tickets.” Hel waved the printed flimsi holodrama tickets in his face. Cal sighed and turned his chair aside to study a slide of some tissue under a scope without answering her.

“Fine,” Hel said to the back of his head, “I’ll go ask Yop. He’s been trying to get me to go out with him for weeks.”

Cal snapped his chair around to face her and she noticed his face seemed a little flushed. “Yop?” Cal asked and then repeated, “Yop? Are you kidding? He’s not a good guy and he uh...well...NO, you cannot go ask him!” Cal knocked over a small tray of specimens and cursed. “You cannot tell me what to do,” Hel stated quietly, “my father left me in charge...in case you forgot.” She bit her lower lip and felt like she might be close to him giving in.

Cal squatted down and slowly gathered the, now ruined, slides. When he stood back up he turned to the stubborn teen and tried to stay calm, “no, I haven’t forgotten about your dear ol’ dad. You really place me in a bad position when you threaten to ask a man, that’s considered the biggest man whore on this ship, to take you to a holo that I don’t want to be caughtdeadseeing!” Cal had run of of breath towards the end of his small rant and felt his face heat up more.

“Damnit, Hel,” he dropped back into his chair, “that holo is the biggest chick flick of the year, and it’s going to be extremely uncomfortable to sit next to my boss’ teenager watching it.” She had him. Hel smiled softly, “don’t get so worked up, I know what Yop does, and do you really think I’d ask him?”

Cal rubbed his face with his hands, “if I agree to go, you’ll agree NOT to pull that with me again. Deal?”

Hel nodded quickly, “deal.” She rushed to the door and reached outside to grab her duffle, “I’m packed, so let’s get going.” Cal should have known, also he’d like to know why he allowed himself to be turned into a nanny.

“It won’t take me long,” Cal said and went to pack. Turning back at the doorway he added, “wait, I’ve one more condition.” Hel’s eyes narrowed, “what is it?” She asked.

“We will see another holo of my choosing after your disgusting five thousand shades of twisted love affairs.”

Hel nodded once, “fine.” Cal disappeared through the door, but stepped back in once more to add, “and reorganize my stuff you made me ruin.”

~~~~~

“It’s really handy being near this ship,” Hel was tucking into her dinner that had just arrived at the table, “have you been to a place like this before?” Cal thought a minute before answering, “no, but I’ve heard about similar ventures. Nothing on this scale though.” He kept glancing towards the front of the restaurant as if he expected Haretisch to come storming in and drag Cal out by the neck.

“Relax,” Hel said softly, “he’s so wrapped up in his little boxing match we’re not even on his radar screen tonight.” Cal nodded and grabbed a roll, “I’m sure you’re right.”

Hel shrugged and swallowed before speaking, “this salad is really good, want some?” She slid her plate across and Cal stabbed into it and chewed in agreement. “I really don’t know exactly what he’s been doing, but I do know he’s been speaking to Bellorum,” Hel might have rolled her eyes a little, but why should she care what he does. “How do you know?” Cal asked her as he helped himself to another bite of her salad. “The thing is, I really don’t have proof. But, he gets oddly moody anytime he’s had an interaction with her,” Hel shrugged. “Oddly moody?” Cal replied, “he’s always moody, so what kind of behavior is oddly moody?”

Hel laughed and shrugged again, “I can’t explain it.” They both fell silent and finished their meal before it was time for their film. “I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this trash,” Cal groaned as they were waiting in queue to take their seats. “Just poke me if I start snoring, okay?” Hel shoved him gently and walked past him carrying their snacks.

~~~~~~

Hel decided that Cal had the worst taste in holofilms in the history of holofilms. His choice for their double feature was a colorless old outer rim frontier drama. The characters wore terrible outfits and traveled on the backs of beasts. The theatre contained four other guests, which should have been a clue to Cal that the film sucked. Hel had given up on pretending to be interested and drifted off to sleep. Cal was loving his holo and couldn’t wait until later to explain to her how this was a true work of art compared to her own terrible film choice. He leaned forward during an exciting scene and happened to glance over to see Hel was fast asleep. Thinking she was probably exhausted, he took off his jacket and covered her arms with it.

The holo was around two-thirds in when Hel woke with a start. The hand that grabbed startled Cal when she gripped his arm was icy cold, “what is it?” He whispered and turned to look at her face.

Hel gasped and moments later the Luxury Elite rocked and they heard a muffled and distant explosion. “They’re gone,” she whispered, “all of them.” Cal tried to ask what was going on but she shushed him. “There’s not time, just get the shuttle warmed up,” she gasped and cringed before she continued, “something’s happened...I...” Her eyes were large and brimmed with unshed tears, “I don’t want to lose him,” Hel realized Cal was rubbing her cold hands in his larger ones. “Just get the shuttle ready, ok? Be ready to fly the minute we get aboard.”

She’d rushed out of the theatre before Cal grabbed his jacket and went to follow.

The corridors were packed with panicking guests, and that’s where Cal heard that the Revelator had been destroyed. He picked up his pace and was practically jogging when he entered the hangar and rushed on to his shuttle to get the start up sequence going.

Moments before, Hel had been adrift in peaceful slumber. She’d relaxed and wasn’t mindful of shielding herself in the Force. Or, maybe it was that Haretisch was powerful enough that he’d been able to find her in spite of her hiding.

It was all so confusing. She’d never felt anything like the explosion and then thousands of beings silenced... gone. The entire crew of the Revelator and the ship itself was just gone.

Haretisch hadn’t specifically reached to her, yet she felt his presence burning. He was in pain, a crazed emotional agony. She was feeling it with him, but he was so focused on something else that she didn’t think he felt her trying to get to him. She made herself small in the force once more. Better that whoever or whatever had undone the Revelator not be able to feel her presence. Without taking time for a lift, she rushed into a stairwell and raced down... he was below her, but not far. The ship rocked again, and she halted, clutching at the railing to steady herself from falling down the steps. Another explosion. What the kriff was going on?

Then Darth Bellorum’s voice came over the intercom, and all was clear. This was bad. Really bad. Allowing her instincts to lead, Hel used the Force to activate the pad next to the door as she was sliding down the rail. Confident that this was indeed the floor, she raced down the corridor. There wasn’t much time.

In the ruins of Insipid’s viewing suite, the former Night Herald stirred to life and opened his eyes. He’d felt it. Only for a moment, just a flicker, but he’d felt her reaching out. His rage was reignited when Bellorum came over the ship-wide intercom. Had this been her doing, then? Or just an unfortunate coincidence, perhaps. Drawing one leg up, he eventually fought to his hands and knees, mouth tasting of iron and something stuck in the front of his throat. He coughed and spat out a pair of teeth just as Hel stepped into view.

“I told you to stay on that bloody ship,” he rasped. He’d never experienced such a mix of disappointment and relief in all his life.

“Seriously, Father?” Hel would have been indignant if she wasn’t concerned about getting him to the shuttle. She knelt beside him and grasped his hand.

Her fingers radiated warmth and a glow of healing. It wasn’t much, but maybe enough to get Haretisch to Dr. Cal. “Did you hear Bellorum? We need to hurry,” she continued on in a flurry of words that reminded him just how young she really was. “Dr. Cal is getting his shuttle ready, can you walk?”

He shook his head. “Not very well or very fast.” He groaned again as Hel pulled him up by the arm, seemingly managing to grab every sore spot in the extremity. She slung his arm over her shoulder to support his wait and dragged him to his feet.

“Can you forward the shuttle’s location via your comm?” he asked. “We have to get a message to the others.”

Hel nodded in the affirmative, and as the two hobbled down the corridor, Haretisch reached for his comm and keyed in the signals for his supporters on the ship. Kralkus, Draconis, Alva, Grievance, Syren, and Skelm. He’d had no contact with the latter two in as many months, as their comms had been taken by Zeb, but he knew them to have been in the suite with their captor when the trouble started. This was his only chance of reaching them.

The pain in his voice would be apparent as the transmission began.

————————————

If any of you are still alive, know that we have been betrayed and that the triumvirate is no more. Darth Bellorum who would see the galaxy burn to call herself queen of the ashes, and Darth Insipid who would poison his own mother if only to undermine an enemy, have fired the opening shots of a war I have tried desperately to avert since arriving in this time.

There is a shuttle, the location of which Hel is forwarding to each of you now, waiting to take us all to safety. Make haste, as we cannot delay.

TAG: @Darth Kronos, @WookieeRage