The transports hadn’t been steady for about a month now. Lt. Esora leaned back in her seat, watching the tower display. The clan’s knights and elders had all seemed preoccupied elsewhere. She adjusted herself, the creak of the leather against her flightsuit a discordant sound. There were a bunch of them at the Inos Station for a few days, but other than that, rumors said that they were off taking care of some business coreward. Not that she cared too much anyway. She just was glad enough to take her flight hours as they came, her numbers climbing with each lazy sortie. Although some of her fellows would have preferred a little more action, that command hadn’t come down from the Consul yet. So she sat in the port command, putting in her eight while sitting on tail. There were worse jobs in the Ancient Empire.
Chirping tones came from the monitor, and she almost kicked her caf mug over as she turned to get a better look. Several personal ships were laying in flight paths and requesting docktimes. “Well, whatever they were up to, seems like they’re done now.” She said to no one in particular before realizing.
A few keystrokes later and she locked in the first batch of requests, staggering the times so that the hangar crew had time to reset. It was a large hangar, but they had to take care anyway. As soon as she approved one, the chirp echoed again. And again. She watched the number of pending requests tick up for a few moments, slowly at first, then faster. Chuckling to herslef, she grabbed her commlink, opening the channel.
“Hey Selri…” Esora paused, waiting for the hybrid to recognize the hail. “I got multiples inbound this afternoon. Might wanna tell the boss.”
“Oh yeah? It’s been a minute.” The half-Firrerreo muttered back into the commlink, her voice tinny from across the station in the Seventh Tooth.
“I know. But it looks like they’re coming in thirsty, if I had to guess.”
Tasha’vel landed in the docking bay and parked her ship. She was wearing her standard black and purple mission uniform. Grumbling, she made her way inside and took a right at the main small hall. She brushed her sapphire lekku behind her.
“What sort of things have they been getting themselves into now and just what pray tell, amazing stuff have they been able to find.” She pondered this for a moment while standing there. “I know there’s a cantina here somewhere.” Her eyes scanned the corridor and spotted some kind of small desk. Perhaps it was an information desk of sorts and strode over to it.
Esora snapped to, seeing the Twi'lek. Sliding her chair away from the terminal, she popped to her feet, the squeak of the flight suit against the synthetic leather of the chair sounding more like a biological function than not. Ignoring the sound as best she could, she saluted the clan member. After all, each and every one of the wizards were a part of the inner circle of the Sadow Empire.
“A cantina, yes.” She recalled the words the woman just spoke. “If you’ve never been, the Seventh Tooth is right through the corridor there… it opens up to a promenade, but the entrance is directly across from here. Great drinks.” The lieutenant shifted her weight, then looked back toward the hangar. “Good thing you got here first, as it looks like we’re going to be getting busy.” Esora smiled.
“Good, rather not have to fight crowds for a good seat.” She arced an eyebrow. “Yeah this is an newer place I have yet to visit. Thank you for the directions.” She put up her hand in a semi-salute wave before turning towards the corridor. She then strode past and was now bathed in a sort of bluish light as she entered the promenade. To the left of her was a large building with a white logo called “Squeeks” on it. To the right was some sore of clinic, But she saw the entrance for the bar directly across and continued. After a bit of walking down the second corridor, the lights changed and she was now bathes in a lilac and white light as she made her way into the Seventh Tooth. She looked about the place a moment and sat down in a far corner booth.
Aleho sat at the bar in the cantina, staring down at the whiskey in front of her, a sour look on her face. She’d recovered from the psychic trauma of breaking the psychic bond with that bastard. She had wanted to head to Inos to find and kill him, but it seemed that the trail had gone cold for the moment. So, she was sitting here hating this feeling of feeling sorry for herself.
“Kriffing hell!”
She grabbed the glass and downed the amber liquid in one go, the burning hitting her throat as she revelled in that sensation. It didn’t improve Aleho’s mood; in fact, she was giving off a vibe about her, letting people know to be wary, as the anger was emanating from her in waves.
She turned to the bartender and said in a horse voice.
“Another whiskey!”
Malisane walked down the promenade towards the cantina, the diminutive creature following behind. He turned at the sound of the creature’s metallic voice. “No, they do not have that simulator here as far as I know. I see little point anyway you beat every scenario. I do not think Colonel Miros was very pleased about that. She said something about a major redesign.” Urtarg made no response, and then walked past the adept towards the food stalls and its red eyes stared up at the familiar food stand, as its nose twitched beneath its deep hood and mask. Malisane watched it, and then followed. “Very well. I would also value some food that was not processed from a machine.” He approached the counter and addressed the vendor. “Two meat melodies, one with full sauces, one with no sauces,” he glanced down at the creature, “and one set of utensils only.” He waited until the food was served and passed one down to the creature, who immediatley crouched and began to eat noisily. Malisane sighed and found a nearby bench and sat, unwrapping his utensils from the serviette and eating slowly. The food was indeed good. It was probably better to consume it here than risk the gammorean’s ire again by taking it into the cantina.
After a short while they finished. Malisane left his tray on the bench, watched as a droid scurried over and cleaned up, as the creature stood making satisfied noises. The adept lead it into the cantina and sat at a table. Another droid approached and Malisane addressed it. “My usual flavoured water,” he ordered and then without looking at the creature added, “and a double shot from one of the special reserve bottles in the back store. The ones with the pawprint label.”
Tasha'vel perused the menu and settled for a Tatooine Sunrise. Placing her order, she looked out and saw a Togruta staring dowerly at a whiskey before shooting an expletive, downing it and ordering another. She arced an eyebrow at the sudden sharp waves of anger coming from her. Hmm must not be her kind of day. She then turned her eyes back to the menu again. “Wonder what else they have.”
After a few moments,she spotted a familiar sort approaching a table aways from her.
“Malisane, of course.”
She chuckled softly while her hand pushed her sapphire lekku behind her as she waited for her drink to arrive.
Malisane noticed the twi'lek elder glance at him. He remembered the awkward conversation when the creature had originally turned up. He glanced down at the creature who was stood mutely, its red eyes studying the inhabitants in the passive way it always did. There was less need for secrecy now, the creature appeared to be behaving itself and its kin did not seem to have followed, yet.
He looked up as the droid reappeared and placed two glasses on the table, one his usual still water with floating vegetation, and the other a glass of a clear syrupy liquid. His nose picked up the deep, sickly aroma of ten types of plants and berries blended together as only the creatures knew how, and he hurriedly passed it down to its original creator. He had, in his young equite days, consumed extremily large quantities of it, and even marketed it with great success in the Dystopia nightclub and the seedier bars in Yamfianta on Lor Zatean. It had seemed like a great time back then, even considering the mornings and even the days after. He felt an involuntary shudder pass through him and suppressed it quickly.
A TIE Interceptor emerged from the void, blending in black within the deep save for a reflective togruta pinup artwork painted on one of the wings. It’s twin ion engines resonated the familiar scream as it arced around the station in waiting for the docking line to go down.
And then it disappeared completely, as if it had left as swiftly as it came. Though in truth it remained, shrouded by a system concealing it from sensors organic and machine alike. The pilot within took off his helmet, gazing at the brilliance of spacecraft engineering surrounded by an asteroid belt that looked like the frozen shrapnel from an explosion from his perspective.
A BD-unit’s photoreceptors turned to scan the view through the TIE’s glass. A display prompt onscreen by the pilot’s throttle transmitted a message from the droid’s input:
// Object Identified: Davantii Space Station // Downloading //
“We’re going to test the waters a bit. Pass me the pad?” the pilot asked.
From the BD Unit’s storage dispensed a Slicer Remote Code Pad. The pilot then booted it’s programming, and the droid linked it with itself and the ship’s AI that governed it’s own slicing computer. A security subprogram required authorization from the designated administrator. The pilot typed in a password: CREON. He then took off his helmet and his face was scanned. The identification program then closed, then showed a display of functions available in a user friendly format on his code pad.
Creon pressed an icon on the pad with his finger, which opened a command prompt program for scanning. “Scan Devantii Space Station” he ordered.
The program responded, and encrypted data was being sifted through the ship’s terminal display.
“Once complete, go dormant save for stealth and vital systems. Patience will tell if they notice.”
The droid brain translated his words into the following command chain to follow upon completion of the scan.
The Reaver angled into its approach, lining up for the run through the asteroid field surrounding Dentavii Prime. Ty and Ellee fine-tuned the shielding, coaxing every ounce of responsiveness out of the systems to slip past the station’s natural defenses. Alarms chirped across the flight deck, and Ellee tapped a quick sequence across her console.
“Contact! Bearing six-one point five-nine. TIE Interceptor.”
Ty pulled up the transponder readout. “Relax. It’s one of ours.”
“Damn,” Ellee huffed. “I was actually hoping to blast something today.”
DarkHawk leaned forward between them. “Just get us to the station, resistors. I need a drink.”
“Elaborate as always,” Ellee said. “The indulgences of you meatbags never cease to astound.”
“Oh, I fully intend to indulge,” DarkHawk shot back. “Just get us there.”
“Tally-ho!” Ty barked, grinning as he fed the new route into the nav system. The asteroid field’s shifting gravity made the approach unpredictable. Ty loved every second of it. With practiced finesse he threaded the Reaver through the drifting rocks and brought her smoothly into dock.
Ty unstrapped and turned to Ellee. “Take her back out, lass. We’ll hail you when we’re ready to depart.”
“Reaver Taxi Service at your disposal,” she chimed.
DarkHawk and Ty disembarked and headed down the station’s corridors. When they stepped into the lounge, they found Tasha, Malisane, Ashura, and Creon already congregating. .
“Sadowans,” DarkHawk announced, “Next round’s on me.”
Aleho gripped her glass, knuckles whitening as she tossed back the whiskey. Ashura’s betrayal replayed in her mind, sharp and relentless. Each sip stoked the fury roiling within her, memories swirling with the burn of alcohol, until rage threatened to spill over.
By chance, a female officer in her thirties—one of the patrons—walked past. Elisabet was just out for a drink when another patron bumped into her, sending her stumbling into Aleho. The Sith’s alcohol-impaired anger, already radiating in waves, was triggered by this accidental bump.
She turned to look up at Elisabet and saw only Ashura. Aleho’s eyes widened as her rage spiked, killing intent flooding out of her. She grabbed Elisabet by the lapel and slammed her against the bar. The human woman was so shocked that she froze for a moment, and Aleho began punching her repeatedly in the face.
The woman threw several more punches into the face of the other, then when she drew her hand back to strike once more she suddenly found herself half way across the bar throwing a punch into thin air. A momentarily cawing filled her ears and a dissipating green haze enveloped where she had once and now stood. Confusion filled her brain as she looked around the room and her eyes met upon a peculiar robed figure that stood by the door to the bar, it’s hand lazily up and pointing towards the woman.
“Fascinating display of savagery,” the figure uttered from behind a metallic mask. Taking steps into the room properly, utilising what appeared to be a long walking stick, almost a staff as support. “Whilst your ilk have a place to display your…basic instincts. That is not here.” The figure sat, not even paying attention to the woman he had teleported away.
The other woman, the one who had been at the forefront of the assault found something suddenly appear in her hand. A small vial of something green and weird shimmered in the bar light and a silent voice in her head simply said “it will heal what has been done.”
“You broke my nose, you crazy bint!”
Elisabet snapped as blood streamed from her nose. The attack had shocked her more than anything. That Togruta woman had to be unhinged to strike so recklessly here.
When the voice spoke in her mind, she saw the vial materialise in her hand. Elisabet drank it without hesitation, then turned, leaned against the bar, and groaned.
“I need a kriffing drink!”
Aleho breathed hard, body shaking with anger and confusion. What had she done… punched Ashura? No, she’d hit a complete stranger for no reason. She looked at her clenched, bloodied fist, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
It was pointless. She was too keyed up to control her anger. She didn’t even want to; she kept fuelling her rage from the Dark Side, which in turn fed her hatred. This self-sustaining cycle had driven her past every bottleneck in her quest for power. All she wanted was enough strength to murder the man she hated.
Aleho turned to the exit where the figure stood. Logic said not to fight someone stronger, and sanity would suggest apologising to the woman she’d punched. But Aleho, charged with Dark Side energy, ignored reason.
“E chu ta! Don’t you kriffing touch me like that again.”
Tasha'Vel who had watched all of this go down, slowly stood up, calmly walked over to Aleho and pointed at her. “Violence and anger without control will eventually be your demise if you continue this path.” Suddenly Aleho felt as if she were weakening, her powers slowly being sapped away to nothing. As if all her anger she was channeling to fuel it, was for nothing. “I do not know what things earlier may have prompted you to such violence, but what I do know is that right now, using this dark power at this particular junction and time is not healthy. If you would like to learn how to buck at the powers that be.” A small smile formed on her face. “I would suggest trying a different avenue.”
Creon leaves in hyperspace.
Nova the gammorean waitress/relief manager was speaking hurriedly in Malisane’s ear. Her usual calm was gone and he could feel anger radiating from her. He already had a firm grip on the robes of the short creature who had tried to draw its blade and join the fight as soon as it had begun. “Very well,” he replied, “I will handle it.”
With a warning glance at Urtarg, the adept stood and walked through the crowd, pulling off his hood revealing his ravaged features and walked up onto the stage at the back of the bar. He waved at a droid in the corner and the ambient music cut off.
He looked down at the crowd who had turned to look at him. “Friends, Sadowans, customers. I hope you are all enjoying your evening. Nova has asked me to remind you all of the rules on fighting in the Seventh Tooth. As you are all aware this bar was created as a relaxing fun hangout for us all to enjoy. If you want to brawl you can take it out to the promenade and that will be the problem of the heavily armed security that patrol it. From now on anyone who throws a punch in here is going to receive the next two from myself and Nova, and she hits even harder than I do.”
His blue eyes passed over the crowd. “Now that is dealt with, Nova has also advised me that our resident house tribute band Sax Rebo is here tonight to entertain you, so give them all a big welcome.” He walked off the stage as a group of assorted aliens entered, pulling their instruments with them. With a bow at the audience they began to play Lapti Nek.
The sudden suppression of her Force abilities was enough to disturb the sweet pull of the Dark Side, causing Aleho to cool her head rather than act out aggressively at everything around her. This also meant many of the negative emotions she had been using to fill herself were suddenly cut off at the source.
She was still angry, but it wasn’t being fed by the Force, which meant the hours of drinking had finally come back to haunt her. She also began to feel rather guilty about punching that woman for no real reason but to satisfy her bloodlust.
“I… I… I…”
Aleho gagged as the room began to swim and her stomach churned, the nausea rising rapidly.
“I… I’m going to be sick.”
Her eyes fixed on the fresher, and she began to stumble quickly toward it.
DarkHawk had made his drink announcement as he and Ty walked in and the commotion just ended. “Bollocks, I see we miss all the fun,” Ty exclaimed.
“Barkeep, rounds for house, put it on my tab.” DarkHawk said. He turned to Ty, “Life Day is right around the corner, folks are getting restless.”
“Chum… if I may offer a thought.”
His voice carried that unmistakable patrician precision, clipped, elegant, seemingly too proper for a bar setting.
“These holiday tensions you’re sensing, most of it isn’t anger. It’s strain. People under burdens don’t like to admit it. Storms inside their own minds. What eases such tempests is not authority, nor instruction, but acknowledgment. Let them feel seen. Heard. Valued. That alone can steady a soul far more than edicts ever will. If you wish to ease their tempers, ol’ boy, remind them that goodwill is not a seasonal luxury. It is a discipline. one that requires daily practice, especially when we least feel inclined to offer it.”
DarkHawk was taken back by the Duros’ statement. He took a deep breath in, “You know, I hate it when you do that, say something annoyingly wise right before I have to do something responsible.”
“You say that as though responsibility ever arrives at a convenient time. Consider this practice… for the many more inconvenient moments yet to come.”
“You know… every time you say something like that, I seriously question why I ever leave Shaevalis.”
DarkHawk moved over to the front of the bar. His voice boomed throughout the Tooth.
Sadowans,
Before we close the year, I want to address something I’ve sensed among us. These tensions we feel aren’t born from anger. They’re born from strain. Many of you are carrying more than you’ll ever admit. Storms inside the mind rarely make noise, but they weigh heavily all the same.
Ty reminded me of a truth worth repeating:
People don’t need commands during times like these. They need acknowledgment.
To feel seen. Heard. Valued.
So hear me now, you are valued. Not for rank or record, but because you choose to stand with this Clan every single day.
Goodwill isn’t a holiday gesture. It’s a discipline. One we practice most when it’s difficult. And it is that discipline that keeps us united, sharp, and unbreakable.
As we move through the season, offer patience where you normally wouldn’t. A word of understanding where silence would be easier. A reminder to someone that they matter, because they do.
We endure because we don’t abandon our own.
May the days ahead bring you clarity, rest, and just enough mischief to keep the spark alive.
Cheers!
Hades rolled his eyes at the commotion that had just occurred. The former Krath didn’t mind the paperwork that came with any type of command, the same kind that others avoided at all costs. He was leaning just inside the entryway to the cantina in the darkest spot of wall he could find. He had been spending long hours on the Dominion. The ship, a Harrower-class Dreadnought from an old Sith Empire era, was the new toy for Consul DarkHawk. It as also a source of pride for Grand Master Muz. The two had worked tirelessly to find a wrecked Harrower from thousands of years ago before taking the scans they took of the ship to Arx and let them work their wonders. Now the clan has a brand new ship who’s name evokes fear and who’s silhouette exudes power. DarkHawk’s sudden selection of Hades to command the harrower was quite the surprise, but one that he took with pride and honor.
Organizing the ship plus moving the fleets into their new Battlegroup configuration took some time and training. Each main Capital ship of the Fleet, Dominion, Perdition and Light of Orion now are organized into task forces with their own escorts. Personnel matters needed to be handeled. There were a lot of transfers. Some ships, who might have been usually stationed over Tarthos, now might be stationed elsewhere in the system who saw crew transfer ships to stay near their loved one’s planet. Logistical issues along the same lines have also reared their ugly head.
Hades sighed and grabbed the thermos of hot coco and took a long drink before sealing it once more and placing the container back into the inside of his arm, pressing against his ribs. Nice and warm. He looked up to see DarkHawk give him a small nod. Hades returned the gesture.
As he finished his last bit of work he closed out the datapad and replaced it at the small of his back, near his lightsaber. He turned and exited the Cantina proper and wondered down to the hangar. The Fleet Admiral found himself a nice crate in the corner and watched as the hangar crew worked diligently on every arrival and departure. He watched with a small sense of joy at the efficiency of said crew. No words uttered, no movement wasted. It was a dance of young men and woman who have become one with one another. They know their jobs. They know their buddy’s job. And, with time, they know what one another is thinking, and it shows.
Soon a civilian version of the Star Courier arrives and lands with a louder thud than it should have. Hades looked close. The shuttle was obviously old, but its owner was proud of it all the same and had tried to make it shine. The ramp lowered and a younger Equate strolled out. The young Sith’s face did not register with Hades at first. The young man turned to bark orders at the ground crew concerning his ship. Apparently not satisfied with a particular answer, the Sith pulled a female crew member to him with his outstretched hand before striking her. The man turned and actually strolled out of hangar to the corridor that ran parallel to the hangar. Hades rage was immediate. He made his way to the Northern hangar exit to cut off the young Sith. The one thing you do not do in Naga Sadow is disrespect our military crewmembers. And especially not in Hades’ presence. Warlord Hades was about to make sure young man learned that lesson the first time. There will not be a second.