Session export: The Struggle for Peace : CNS Station Grand Opening

This was…well, not the homecoming Darth Renatus had planned. Not to say he had any plan of that kind, but he would’ve picked something where people actually knew he was coming. At least any that he used to have contact with.

As the Firrerreo’s shuttle settled down in the hangar, his thoughts drifted to meetings with Locke and Methyas. His quick and violent ascent within the Clan, assisting with a coup against Macron and being handed the role of Quaestor. Honestly, that had been a rather stupid decision. He hadn’t even been knighted, let alone had any presence to speak of politically. But that was history. Almost ancient history.

Would’ve been prudent to meet for drinks, though. Alas.

Walking on autopilot as his thoughts drifted, the Deputy Grand Master found his way to the so-designated “Lobby”. His black-gold eyes drifted from the exotic plant life to the architecture. He was curious what sort of facilities would be available on the hub, especially as he found himself on these sorts of waystations more and more often. Discreetly visiting the clan systems had that effect.

The next pair of feet – one hoped – to carry on across the threshold had no history here. Not among the Orian System, and not among a single Sadowan. What they did have was particular interests, and the broadwave invitations had advertised many luxuries, one of which intersected with said interests.

A slim-to-middling figure of generic height and unremarkable, pale feature chiefly hidden beneath a hood – a rather generic sight, among the Brotherhood – approached the concierge desk. They had paused to turn their cloaked head towards each of the plants present, spending the longest pause on the Dathomirian species, and now paused just behind the powerful man in line ahead of them called sire.

Rather than wait for Lyra, they turned to the shooed protocol droid, who was clearly available.

“Where are the best bars here? The gambling halls, the clubs, elsewhere, dear? And mind I am searching for something significantly stronger than beer.”

<@284848346672136192>

The shuttle landed gently in an assigned location, the few passengers disembarked. For one, it had been over thirty years since he was in this part of the galaxy. For another, she was still trying to find the time to make the trip home but she also hadn’t been in these parts in a very long time.

“Now, Missy. You don’t go antagonizin’ folk as ye usually do.” The man said in his folksy way. “Iff'n ya don’t mind now, I think it might be time for a bite.”

Miho looked up at the man from beneath the brim of her hat. “Of course, Master Ordo. I wouldn’t think of antagonizin’ people.”

The older man had been a bit upset since their side trip to Port Ol'val after Miho had received a request for a ride. He didn’t like Arconans and didn’t like being in Arconan space. A “holdover from another life” as he put it.

Miho laughed softly to herself. Jak was an enigma wrapped in mystery. He had his secrets, but he also had stories to share about her own brothers she hadn’t heard.

Looking at the line at the concierge desk, the Warmaster of Odan-Urr grinned. Thane was there being welcomed as well. “Well, well, well. Maybe we can bother him some more.”

She turned towards the dark-skinned woman with a white lock in her hair. “What do you think, Socorra? Drinks, dancing, gambling?”

<@141239709291511808>

Aleho couldn’t understand her master’s plan in coming here. It had been so many years since she had returned to the Orian system and the Clan. She was no longer the young girl who idolised so many members of the Clan. Oh, please don’t get her wrong, she respected them immensely, but she now had her own ambitions. Ambitions that Ashura stole from her due to his own damn plans. She never would have believed he would turn her into one of his damn puppets. Yet, she felt him rooting around in her mind, forcing her to take actions he deemed advantageous. He excelled at using the Jedi mind trick to dominate weak-willed minds.

Ashura didn’t bother with the usual finesse of mental persuasion—no gentle nudges, no whispered suggestions. Instead, he wields their will like a vice, seizing control with unwavering focus. With enough concentration, he can override instincts, loyalties, even their survival drive—puppeteering them like a marionette while their consciousness remains trapped behind their own eyes. However, he wasn’t being overly heavy-handed with her, but not out of any sign of kindness. He needed a free-thinking agent, not a puppet, but one he could control.

The Sith Knight Togruta returned to the only home she really knew, one that held a plethora of good and bad memories; although, if she were to be serious, none of her life had been a cake walk. For now, she would monitor the situation and see what her boss wanted her to do. Honestly, she’d rather be digging through the dirt and uncovering ancient Sith secrets. A pain shot through her head, a reminder from her master not to let her thoughts wander and to stay on mission.

The Deathshead Orian Space

Malisane sat in the pilots chair, minor feelings of annoyance rising in him. He did not usually have to concern himself with these matters, but Major Dagen was on Warhost business somewhere and had been for several days. He tried again. “Shasot Nawool.” There was silence. “Shaazot Naawoool,” He sighed as nothing happened. “Sharshot Narwul,” he tried again, trying to make it come from his throat. In annoyance he picked up the dapapad again and read the message from the summit. “Charzoot Ni-wul.” he attempted, making his voice even deeper than normal. There was a boom from behind him and he glanced back as the black astromech enter the cockpit. It studied him for a few seconds, and then made another questioning tone. “No, I do not have something stuck in my throat,” the Adept snapped, “I am trying to direct Zen.” An eye stalk emerged from the droid and looked over his shoulder. It made a louder boom, to no effect. “This is ridiculous,” Malisane commented darkly, “I might need a map.” There was the sudden sound of rustling cloth behind him, and a dark metallic voice suddenly said. “Shâsot’nwûl.” There was a hum in the cockpit and a loud voice announced, “Destination found, optimum route plotted, autopilot engaged.” The hum became louder as the lancer patrol craft’s engines fired up and the craft began to manoeuvre. Malisane looked around at the short robed figure, whose red eyes met his own passively. “How did you know that?” There was no response. “Very well.”

A short while later the Deathshead entered the hangar, and after a few moments Malisane left, his cloak pulled around him over his robes. A few seconds later the short robed figure followed him, speaking in it’s own language. “You will accompany me,” Malisane told him, “I am not leaving you alone. You had one day on Lor Zatean, in which time you wiped out a bandit camp and stole two creatures from the Refarice zoo. Stay by my side, do not engage anyone in conversation, and no more fatalities.” Urtarg’s red eyes looked up at him, then it began to walk behind the adept towards the cantina.

The figure turned towards the tubrolifts indicated, though a grimace under their hood revealed slight displeasure with the answer repeating advertised information. They swiveled back.

“Allow me to rephrase. Between those locations, which has the most alcohol by volume that I can consume? I want all the alcohol.”

Hopefully a droid wouldn’t need them to clarify it wasn’t hyperbole.

As Aryn “Jade” Erinos-Magnuri brought the Fury-class Interceptor Raven’s Nest into the spacious Hangar Bay, the helmet of her armor on the back of the pilot’s seat, she couldn’t help a comment to her companion in the co-pilot’s chair. “A lot of people won’t be happy to see you… as far as I know, the fact that you’re out of that prison has yet to even be announced.”

A single silver eye rolled as the Shaevalian-Umbaran adjusted the cuff of his suit, which was rather more than it seemed. “Sis, I swore an oath that, so long as I was free, I would allow a Locator Beacon to be placed within my cybernetic arm and not interfere with the signal nor remove the arm to allow myself to be tracked. You know how I feel about Oaths.”

The male’s sister-in-law gave a Gaelic shrug in response. “Just remember to keep your paperwork handy. I want to avoid any unnecessary drama on this trip… plus, the people you may encounter will be even less happy that you’ve been given a reprieve from prison, much less an open allowance to carry weapons.” She went quiet as she powered down the vessel. “You and I both know you were released to avoid the chaos of your inevitable escape.”

Celevon Werd'a smiled slightly, knowing that Jade was showing she cared with her worry. He waited until they were walking down the ramp, then locking the ship up to respond. “I promise to be on my best behavior, Sister. My blades won’t come out unless I’m forced to defend myself.”

The Mandalorian’s muttered ‘it’s not you I’m worried about’ turned his smile into a smirk.

Renatus’ eyebrow preceded his head slowly turning towards the perfectly average and cromulent in every facet hooded figure. He idly wondered if badgering a programmed concierge would get any results of value. Droids were just tools after all. It was like yelling at your datapad.

Perhaps he could offer logic?

“Gambling dens offer cheap, plentiful beer. Keeps the wheels turning and clients confident at odds with their ability. Sadow’s Seal, considering the Sons’ and Daughters’ penchant for drink, sounds like your goal,” he explained indifferently, but lilting upon his tongue.

The stranger glanced to their left at Renatus, and kept their average face smooth save a friendly, mild smile, despite a spark of recognition, and, hot on its heels, absolute mischief.

“It sounds as though thee are more familiar with the territory than we,” they commented, dipping their head in a nod. “Thank you for the advice.”

They moved towards the lifts, then threw a look back over their shoulders.

“Care for a drink? I’ll spare…I suppose three. At least.”

As the pair entered the next area from the Hangar, Jade had the word ‘beautiful’ torn from her throat as she took in the sheer elegance and plant-life.

Celevon, on the other hand, spotted a familiar figure near the Concierge’s desk after taking a moment to appreciate their surroundings. With Jade sticking close to his side, the Seeker approached the desk and waited to be noticed by one of his oldest friends.

He gave a slight nod to the hooded stranger that headed toward the turbolifts as he approached.

<@244244163002892288>

So how are those new outfits doing for you Vance?“ Tasha'vel chuckled as she arrived at the Shâsot’nwûl Station. Having received an invitation for the grand opening, the Elder decided that this event would be important to show up for. Likewise, she also made sure that Vance would also be present, though he would have probably gone anyway. He was far more a social butterfly than herself.

"Well it fits, but not sure about the style quite yet.” He shrugged. “But it will do.” The outfit in question was a nice ornately designed black vest with dark blue colors to highlight the Rylothian orchid designs along with a pair of matching slacks. He still felt uncomfortable with finer clothing and wished for his regular wear, however he did not want to embarrass Tasha'vel at this event. It was one of the few times, he had actually seen her sort of happier.

The Sith Marauder rarely seemed to genuinely smile, but this was a bit different. Maybe she did want to drink and play some games. Whatever she wanted to do was fine with him. As for him, well drinks and talking to folks was his favorite. Who knows perhaps he could even make an ally tonight. Vance grinned at the thought. “Wouldn’t that be fun.”

I’m sorry what Vance?“chimed the sapphire skinned twi'lek.

"Oh nothing at all-Wow, uh..you look amazing boss.” Vance commented as he looked at her.

Tasha'vel had opted to wear her nice purple short sleeved blazer with matching slacks and purple pumps. Her lekku were resting behind her back as she wore a fancy gold headpiece with emeralds adorning it. She looked at Vance a moment. “Right, now stop gawking and let’s go mercenary.” Roy, Tasha’s BB-bot, began to chirp loudy at Vance as it followed behind them. Vance shook his head at the droid. “Hush Roy.”

The ship had already arrived at the destination and parked. The Elder, Mercenary and droid all stepped out and made their way into the lobby. Already Tasha'vel’s emerald eyes began to take in the sight as her ears and nose picked out the sounds and smells of the establishment.

“Well this is certainly charming isn’t it?” The Marauder commented at the plants and look of the lobby.

“It’s gorgeous, I haven’t really seen anything like this fancy and set up in Orian.” He smirked. “Though Aeotheran Resort isn’t too bad I will admit, but this..” He paused a moment. “This really speaks a lot.”

“So generous, how could I refuse?” Renatus replied. At the same time, a familiar presence tugged at his awareness. It carried history and the scent of the streets.

The Deputy Grand Master turned his head back towards the desk where Celevon had made himself comfortable. Renatus inclined his head and allowed himself to grin. “Been a while, Cel. Looking for fresh pockets to pick?”

-# <@248237225202941964>

Whilst Jade snorted in clear amusement, Celevon merely gave a wry smile to his old friend. Neither were what others would consider sociable.

Or ‘normal’, for that matter.

“Indeed it has. Alas, I promised my sister-in-law that I would be on my best behavior whilst on this outing,” the former street rat of Corellia retorted with a mock-offended glance to the Mandalorian at his side. That said, he gave a more formal and serious bow. “My congratulations on your elevation to Deputy Grand Master, Darth Renatus.”

Renatus visibly cringed at the use of titles.

“Thanks. Still call me Atra. I insist,” the Firrerreo declared. He then inclined his head to the Mandalorian. “Keeping him to his best will be a full-time job. My condolences.”

Aleho could feel her master’s confusion and irritation grow as she continued to explore the station as Generic Background Character A. Honestly, it baffled her too, a place for diplomatic connections for the clan and the wider brotherhood to interact was far too open handed, especially for Lord Keibatsu. The Proconsul was plotting something. The question was what and why Ashura was so interested to find out.

A shot of pain through her mind reminded her to mind her own damn business and to get on with her assignment. So, Generic Background Character A attempted to find a terminal that would allow her to access general information about the space station.

She made sure to adjust her hood slightly to hide her face from any of the Old Guard who might remember her. Still, she wasn’t a teenager, so she doubted anyone would, although the chance was slim; she’d best not draw attention to herself.

“As you wish,” Celevon replied with a small smile at his oldest friend, before he turned to wait his turn at the Concierge Desk to request a downloadable map.

The Mandalorian took off her helmet and shook out her long red hair, giving a smirk in return. “Thank you. It’s been a difficult job these last ten years. It’s like trouble and chaos have a way of following him. Still… at least he keeps his word. I’m Aryn Erinos-Magnuri, but you can call me Jade. I married his twin sister, Rowena.”

She paused for a moment, tucking the helmet under her arm. “Don’t let me keep you if you would like to join them for a drink,” the Hunter added with a subtle gesture to the androgynous, hooded figure that had invited Renatus before their brief introduction.

-# <@244244163002892288>

The questionable character lingered for the reintroductions and new meetings, adopting a casual idle pose. Their brows, which might or might not have existed, they hadn’t decided yet, rose a bit at the bowing and corresponding cringe.

When gestured at, they made a tick tock sort of gesture and began backing towards the lifts. If the Deputy Grand Master wanted to be saved from a social call involving his twelve titles, they’d hurry it along.

And that was all the opportunity he needed. Renatus nodded a farewell to Jade and another mouthed ‘Sorry’ before using his long stride to make it to the turbolifts.

The shorter of the two considered the many options and made a beeline for the one opening without people in it, keying in the appropriate floor once the doors closed. They rode in blissful, polite silence until their appointed destination, and this time the opening doors heralded in a wave of music and light.

“Oh. Gyrating pelvises. Splendid,” deadpanned the stranger, and looking around, hurried for the closest bar that was also furthest possible from the establishment’s dance floor and the speakers. Unfortunately, those were pretty evenly spaced and state of the art, so the sound wasn’t very escapable. They waved for a tender.

“Two bottles of whatever you have that is the highest proof, and one bottle of…?” they angles towards Atra Renatus Stop Perceiving Me.

The Evereni reached up and gently swiped at the back of the earbuds that were in her ear.

…the Devil’s knocking at your door, Caught in the eye of a dead man’s lie…

She let out a sigh of relief and her shoulders dropped when the song came through clear. She glanced around as people came in and out of the Lobby. She didn’t mind people watching but she knew if she was in her mind too long, she would find herself reminiscing about certain pasts she doesn’t want to think about right now. Her fingertips played with the purple beads that were on her bracelet before brushing her thumb over one of the charms that hung from it.

Will Drevdea ever forgive me? Will I ever make up for all the wrongs I did under Her eye? Will She embrace me or reject me- Frack.

So much for not getting too deep into her own thoughts.

Relaxation sounded good. She had already arrived a bit earlier and looked at the map. Nothing really captured her attention except for one area all because of a recommendation from a fellow female at the conference a few weeks back.

Her five second crush had gushed about The Seven Salts Spa. A smile crept on her cheeks as she fondly remembered a very specific moment with that woman but then huffed under her breath as the Evereni knew she missed her chance with her. All the signs were there, Maeva just didn’t know how to read the room. Or body language for that matter.

And it took her friends to point it out a few weeks later. She brushed her bangs to the side in response to her own self-embarrassment as she started to find her way towards The Seven Salts Spa.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran sensed the moment his oldest friend and ally departed the area, headed to parts unknown. Whilst the Concierge was busy, Celevon remembered the tie pin that had been a gift and clipped it on to complete the ensemble of his bespoke black suit with matching vest, shiny black shoes, and a crisp white dress shirt. The silver pin of a serpent — an asp or king cobra —, with its fangs bared and tiny chips of emerald for eyes glinted in the artificial light.

When the lady behind the desk handed the former War Councilor a memory chip containing a copy of a map of the facility, along with a slip of flimsi with something hastily written on it, Celevon gave a polite smile and pocketed the note with a bow of his head. Internally pleased with the blush on her cheeks, the Seeker stepped away from the desk and over to his long-time companion.

Jade had quirked a finely sculpted eyebrow, both having risen in surprise when her brother-in-law approached. “Are you feeling alright? You didn’t flirt with her once… And don’t think I didn’t notice that she slipped you her comm frequency or address.”

The Assassin shrugged, absently checking his silver with amethyst gemstone cufflinks as he quietly surveyed their surroundings. Whilst he did not say it, Celevon was wary about anyone he would encounter that believed he should still be in prison.

“I think my relationship status is complicated enough as it is. Whilst Xathia and I are still married, there’s no… real relationship to speak of, since she faked hers and our children’s deaths, then contacted me years later out of the blue to tell me the truth. I love Morgan, even if she isn’t willing to settle down.”

The Mandalorian’s icy blue and pale cybernetic eyes bore into him, clearly urging the Force Disciple to discuss the most complicated and third person he had been involved with for such a long period. Celevon took another long moment to ponder how best to finish, then decided on the truth.

“I’m uncertain if I can trust Kaltani. So, as far as I’m concerned, that is over. It’ll never happen again,” was all the native Corellian would say on the topic of the Empress of the Kiast System.

Jade’s eyebrow rose higher. “Won’t that… cause a problem?”

“For her? Certainly. I’ll be sure to inform her if and when she calls me so we can talk.” The silent ‘and explains why she left me in prison without contact’ that went unspoken, as well as the chill in his tone spoke volumes of his current feelings for the Sephi.

Considering that Celevon’s voice had gone as cold as interstellar space when speaking of Empress Kaltani Anasaye, it was equally clear that he would say no more on the topic of the woman.

The Mandalorian dropped the topic, as his organic eye seemed to momentarily glow from within. A flame of emerald green had overtaken the natural quicksilver shade for a heartbeat until her brother-in-law regained control of his emotions.

She cast around for a new topic, whilst internally wondering if he had performed another ritual to enhance his abilities with Nightsister Magicks. Normally, that glow was only visible when Celevon actively called on one of those powers.

Atticus walked slowly behind Vance and the Versea Matriarch. He maintained a respectful distance. He was a stranger here. He had spent a few weeks at the Estate at this point. Tending the garden had been the most pressing duties he had been called upon to complete on Ryloth.

It had been nice.

He felt awkward in this place. So far, Tasha'Vel had been more than friendly to him. She had given him plenty of space to do his work. She had given him larger quarters than he had expected for the lowliness of his station. She had allowed him some quiet evenings. She had given him a modest wage for his work.

She had let him have time to get to know Vance better. He smiled at the half-Sephi’s back as he thought back to those quiet evenings.

Still, here he was at work, right? He was not about to insert himself into that work.

He considered speaking telepathically with the mercenary, but it hardly felt appropriate. He glanced at the other two. They were dressed in finery, and here he was in simple clothes provided by the Shadow Academy.

His work there would start soon enough. Maybe, there was some hope that he would find a Master. Perhaps, he would be more than a failed Padawan. Perhaps one day.

He looked around the lobby, drinking in his surroundings. He was being awkward and stand-offish, and it was not going to help anything here. Between his friend- he wasn’t sure if boyfriend was the right word, anyway- and his employer, he was being dreadfully rude. Drawing a breath, he sidled up next to Tasha'Vel and Vance. “So, what would you have of me, mam?”

Meanwhile…

As the transport made contact, Bentre Stahoes recoiled slightly. He had spent a lot of time in study of late. He had attempted to spend some time speaking to his wife, but so far they had remained at a bit of an impasse.

The last time, she had told him that his daughter missed him. That awakened a desire for connection that he had not given thought to in quite some time. As far as he understood it, Tash’ did not want him near his offspring.

He was not about to bend her ear here. He was not about to make a scene at this event. Today was about Clan Naga Sadow, and the Sadowan Empire. Still, he winced, thinking about having to talk with his wife when he wanted to resolve the tension between them above all things.

But today was not about him.

As the transport’s ramp lowered, the Corellian Sith stepped out into the hanger. He quickly strode out from the hanger, getting lost in his own thoughts. It was not until his eyes locked on the back of his wife’s head that Bentre Stahoes stopped. She was standing in a blazer and slacks, beside a Sephi and a Zeltron that he did not recognize.

His heart dropped.

He walked up slowly, but did not make any effort to make his steps quiet. Instead, he cleared his throat.

So we meet again, Tasha'Vel.

Tasha'vel turned to the younger jedi and chuckled as she looked at Vance then to him. “Hmmm, I think you should both go check out the place for me while I do some exploring on my own.” As she said that, she heard the familiar voice. “So we meet again, Bentre. Ah right, you have not met some of my employees that help me out on different missions.” She smiled to him. “This is Vance, my mercenary that usually goes on all my diplomatic missions, and this young Jedi is Atticus. Vance actually recruited him.” She then looked into his eyes, a moment and felt sadness in them. For once she halted, as if feeling some pain in him. “Yeah why don’t you two head off and explore. I will hear your reports later.” She stated as she then turned back to Bentre, her voice calm and gentle. “How are you Bentre?”

Whilst his longtime companion and sister-in-law seemed frozen with indecision, dealing with some internal conflict, the Seeker took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Absorbing the blood of a native Dathomiri in a ritual seemed to have enhanced his Pyrotechnic powers, linking them to his emotions and desires.

As his eyes, both organic and cybernetic swept over the crowd, they paused on a female Twi'lek, a tall Human, Sephi and Zeltron males. The first two seemed familiar somehow, but Celevon couldn’t place them.

The younger two of the group were entirely unfamiliar, both in appearance and through the Force.

Another presence nearby yet out of sight felt familiar, but the Corellian native couldn’t immediately place it.

To avoid picking up on emotions, feelings or thoughts that weren’t his business, Celevon pulled his senses — Telepathic and otherwise — back to within his personal sphere of space. Sometimes, the results of the extensive training he had put himself through was bothersome in the extreme.

It was the sense that the woman at the Concierge Desk was staring at him and fantasizing or daydreaming that brought about the realization.

It was nowhere near as bad as when someone with an unshielded or undisciplined mind met his eyes, but close enough to bother him when it came to respecting the privacy of others.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran quickly stuck his hand in his pocket and conjured a single burst of flame. All it would do is burn the lint and render the sheet of flimsi to ash before dissipating due to the lack of oxygen.

He grunted. “Been better, to be perfectly honest. I think I drank a little too hard last night, and I have been thinking on what we talked a bit about last time. Plus, I have been less comfortable with big crowds after Takagari took over. I dealt with it as the Overlord, but-” he waved a hand in the air semi-dismissively, “hey, at least I don’t have to do so all the time.” He shrugged.

How are we, sweetheart?

The words, crawling in the back of her head, were pained.

“Sweetheart?” She blinked. It had been a far long time since he called her that. She felt a bit strange. Was it the drink talking? Or was he actually returning a bit more to his usual self. The man she married and had a child with. Could she trust him? All these questions running in her mind, but he was here now, talking to her. And still a part of her did want to see and spend time with him.“I see, well would you like to sit down somewhere then and perhaps enjoy some pazaak and drinks?” She gave him a small smile.

“Sounds like a plan.” He sniffed and looked around the lobby. “Are you sure your boys are gonna be okay without you cracking the whip?”

She actually laughed. “I think they will be just fine, Bentre.” She then extended her right hand out to him. “Shall we go see where the pazaak tables are?”

Bentre took her right hand in his, wincing slightly. He had feeling in his cybernetic prosthetic, but he didn’t imagine the cool metal of the replacement limbs were nearly as comfortable as his former flesh and blood counterparts. He squeezed her warm hand in his softly.

“So, have you had a chance to scope out the floor plan of this place yet?” He shrugged. “I have been keeping so busy I had hardly heard anything before that announcement went out.”

Accessing the terminal in the lobby, Aleho began to go through the publicly available information on the Shâsot'nwûl Station. It didn’t seem very interesting, which she had expected; yet, she was trying to make out what she could between the lines.

As she thought the entire thing was a diplomatic bridge between the clan and the Brotherhood. A grand gesture by Naga Sadow. If her master had doubts (which she did too), then the other clans and even the Council would have those same doubts. The station wasn’t a diplomatic shindig but a bomb waiting to explode in everyone’s face. Aleho groaned internally as she felt the increasing need to dig deeper, a compulsion her master was forcing upon her.

‘Kriffing hell, he wants me to slice into the terminal and dig deeper. Are you trying to get me killed, Ashura?’ Even as she finished that thought, the shearing pain through her mind indicated her master’s disapproval at being questioned. Aleho staggered from the pain and gripped the console to steady herself. Her vision wavered, and she waited a moment before it cleared up and accessed the internal maps. Once again, it showed only publicly available information, but it was enough for her to surmise where she could go to have some privacy to hack a terminal.

Malisane made his way into the cantina. He had recognised the former Consul and the twi'lkek adept as he passed, and had recollections of discussions previously on Dentaavi with the mercenary Vance. He saw no one else he recognised. He looked around, it was very different from the other cantina, far larger and had a more mixed crowd than the usual Sadowans and Warhost officers. Checking that the creature was still with him, he made his way to the bar. “A flavoured water, still, no ice.” He glanced down at the creature. “Make it two.” There was a rumble of protest from beneath him, but the last thing he wanted was the creature drinking here considering its recent actions. “You have flavoured water here,” he replied in the creatures own language, “if you want something stronger, go fifty light years in any direction from our home system where your actions will not lead back to me, and drink it there.” The creature looked up at him but was silent. Malisane passed a drink down then turned and calmly watched his surroundings as he sipped his own drink.

It hadn’t taken her long to find a private room to access. It looked like a diplomatic quarter, and Aleho could tell by the unmade bed that it had not been used by anyone yet. The Sith Knight made her way to the terminal at the desk and inserted a dongle into the side port, which uploaded her hacking software.

Her slicing ability was nowhere near epic tier; in fact, Aleho’s ability was rather average, but she had a couple of advantages. The first was that the slicing software in the dongle was doing most of the heavy lifting, with her just nudging it in the right direction. The second thing was that Aleho was familiar with the operating software the clan used. So, within a short amount of time, she was in; however, she quickly discovered something interesting and disturbing. They had designed a hackable system which had clocked her.

“Kriffing hell!”

She didn’t have long before security came storming through, so she quickly pressed Alt-Esc, which caused the software in the dongle to erase itself and made for the door. However, security was on the ball as two guards entered, her first instinct was to neutralise them without killing, but it seemed her master had other ideas. He took direct control of her actions.

The Force surged through her limbs as she grabbed hold of the first guard and straight up broke his neck with sheer brute force. Her lightsaber ignited a moment later and went through the other guard’s head. They were both on the floor, dead in moments. Ashura then moved her out of the room and away from her. Her control over her body cut off, she mentally raged at him for killing them. She could have knocked them out, but no; he had determined the quickest course of action was to take control of her body through the Force and push her beyond her current abilities. It made her feel stretched thin, and Aleho could see how his other puppets expired so often if he ran them ragged.

For a long time, she had admired Ashura and honestly loved him like a father figure. Now, she was but a tool for his machinations; one he had cared for and nurtured for ten years. Educated and trained her. She almost thought he’d planned it all, from Curwen Sunei breaking and controlling her mind to her being ostracised and exiled, to him returning and taking care of her after that. It’s all been a lie to create the perfect pawn for him to use.

Aleho could say with 100% conviction and accuracy that she HATED Ashura Sadow with every fibre of her being.

“I had not yet Bentre, but hey we can explore the place together as team. After all, you were always good at getting into places and gathering information.” She winked as she walked with her hand in his up towards the main information desk, waiting in line for their turn. “What have you been working on lately?”

The Reaver cut through the hyperspace lanes like a dagger. The jump from Sepros to Inos was not long, but it was a jump nonetheless. Ty and Ellee worked the controls of the interceptor with ease born of muscle memory and expertise. Of course, Ellee could not resist slipping in a condescending remark about how droids, especially pilot droids were far superior to “sentient meatbags.”

As Inos appeared on the sensors, Ellee began initiating the startup sequence on the ship’s newly installed cloaking device. Just before activating the system, she turned toward Tytus.

“Are you certain this isn’t going to blow us to atoms when I push this button?”

“Bloody ’ell, lass, I installed the system myself!”

“Which is exactly why I’m asking. Becoming space dust isn’t conducive to my programming.”

“Just push the button when I pull us out of the jump, you snarky tart!”

Ty eased the throttle back, and the ice giant of Inos filled the viewport. DarkHawk sat quietly behind the two, watching the planet loom closer.

“Are you sure you want to test that here, Ty?” he asked. “After all, we’re heading to one of our own resource stations.”

“Ol’ boy, you know damn well Lord Keibatsu layered that station with security protocols. No better time than now.” Ty gestured for Ellee to activate the cloak.

The system powered up, washing the Reaver’s interior in a dim red glow. Engine baffles muffled the whine of the drives until they were little more than a whisper. Ty’s face lit up with excitement. “ACES, I tell you! Let’s see how close we can get.”

“Ur-Kittât,” DarkHawk murmured.

“Let’s see how long it takes them to figure us out,” Ty replied with a grin.

The station loomed larger as the Reaver crept closer. No hails, no transponder pings. They closed to within a single klick before the control tower finally challenged them.

“Unidentified ship, transmit immediate transponder code,” came the crisp command as the station’s defense systems locked onto the Reaver’s position.

Ty looked back at DarkHawk with a smug smile while tipping his aircav hat towards him. “Not too shabby, eh?”

“Light us up, Ellee. Send our codes,” the Consul instructed.

Ellee disengaged the cloak and transmitted their clearance. In the tower, a young ensign paled as he checked the return.

“Sir, this transponder… it’s Consul Sadow.”

The commander leaned over, confirmed the codes, and barked the order. “Disengage defenses and clear them immediately.”

“Copy that, sir. Consul Sadow, welcome. You are cleared to dock.”

Ty smirked. “Looky-looky, we get preferential treatment.”

He guided the Reaver in smoothly, eyeing a shuttle already berthed nearby. The markings were clear. “GMRG,” he muttered. “Looks like the guv’nors are here.”

With a few precise bursts from the lateral thrusters, the Reaver locked into place with a mild thud.

“Ellee, you’re welcome to join us if you like,” DarkHawk offered as he rose.

She swiveled in her seat, dry as ever. “I’d rather be dipped in acid.”

“A simple ‘no thank you’ would have sufficed, there resistors.”

DarkHawk clapped Ty on the shoulder. “Come on Sgt. Major, let’s have a few drinks, maybe win a few credits.”

“Jolly good, ol’ chum,” Ty said with a grin. “I’ll bring the stogies.”

“The good ones, Ty. Not that rancid rubbish you brought back from Canto Bight.”

“I was bamboozled on that procurement and you know it!” Ty protested.

DarkHawk chuckled as the hatch cycled open. “Let’s go, Ty. I’m feeling good about winning someone else’s credits tonight.”

He looked sideways at his wife.

“Is that really a question that you want me to answer?” He looked uncomfortable as he stared intently forward again. “As I remember, the last time you heard about what I was working on, you decided my daughter wasn’t safe with me.”

“Aye, that I did because you seemed to not exactly be yourself Bentre, however your daughter is missing you greatly, and as she is eight I will allow her to decide if she wants to see her father. Now, the question is can I trust you with her?” She answered looking at him.

Jade shook off her own musings. If Celevon created or performed another ritual, it was his business. The Mandalorian noticed that the line at the Concierge Desk was growing and, as a result, the Antechamber was growing crowded in their area.

“Did you get us a map of the area?” the Human asked abruptly, drawing a startled look from her brother-in-law. So, she repeated herself, as it appeared that the man had been lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh… yes, I did. Here,” Celevon reached into a pocket, then handed over a memory chip.

The Huntress plugged it into her Mandalorian Vambrace, watched as it quickly uploaded, then opened the surprisingly large file. She swore. “What the hell did you say or do to the woman at the desk?!”

“What? I was merely polite… and lightly flirtatious, but I did nothing to affect/alter her mind. I promised to behave!” The last was more vehement at her raised eyebrow.

Jade’s lips twitched into an amused smirk. “Well, it paid off… this isn’t a map for the public. She gave you a copy of the full schematics of the station.”

Celevon’s lone organic eye widened, before his features took on a satisfied, almost smug look.

“Let’s get out of here and visit one of the features. Did you want to get a drink?”

The last was added as her own form of apology, knowing that her brother-in-law was sensitive to the current situation with Kaltani Anasaye.

A single look told the Mandalorian that he appreciated the thought. For whatever reason, his own instincts — or was it an urging of the Force? — were telling him to vacate the area. “Honestly, I’d like to visit the shopping area and see what they have. Maybe get a travel cup of caf, but, no, no alcohol. I need my mind sharp if someone decides to take offense to the fact that I’m out of prison.”

“Sounds good. I want to see the Casino. Maybe enjoy a drink two while I’m at it. Let’s get moving,” Jade smiled, leading them toward the turbolifts mere steps behind an older Human and Twi'lek.

Meanwhile

Vance and Atticus had taken the turbolift already to explore a bit when Vance’s datapad went off. “Oh wait..well nine hells.” He sighed a moment looking at Atticus. “I need to go, it looks like they were short on a bartender here on the station and need me. I had applied and gotten a temporary job here, but looks like I am being summoned immediately. I will be up around the dance floor of the establishment, if you need a drink Atticus, but take some time and get a look around.” He kissed Atticus’s forehead. “I will see you later, handsome.”

He winked and pushed the floor to the dance hall. Straightening his hair, the Mercenary smiled happily as he arrived on the floor. Immediately, he beelined his way to the bar and already saw a few waving. He approached the hooded stranger and Darth Renatus. Vance gave a flourishing bow and charming smile. “Welcome to the station, what can I get for you?”

"Two bottles of whatever you have that is the highest proof, and one bottle of..” The Stranger replied before turning to their partner.

“Well we do have Whyren’s Reserve here, Corellian Whiskey, Blurggfire, Sullustian ale, and Bespin Cloud Carver as well as just about any other bottles of spirits you would prefer.” He grinned at the Stranger. “Up to you on what you would like to try.”

Renatus’ gaze was shifting, almost mercurial, until Vance began listing off the options. Then he was focused entirely on the bartender.

“Corellian Whiskey,” Renatus requested. And why not that? He was feeling nostalgic after all.

“As you wish, neat or on the rocks?” He replied as he reached down for a glass, setting it on the counter.

Their nose wrinkled at the Deputy’s choice, but to the list they only shrugged.

“Whatever you pick,‘ they replied. "And I won’t need a glass.”

It suddenly occurred to the Mandalorian that they might be here a while. “Please wait for me in the Devaronian’s Dice, brother. I need to get us rooms or a Suite here,” with that said, Jade rushed back to the Concierge Desk and reluctantly found herself a place at the end of the line.

Celevon was bemused by this, but shrugged it off. If she didn’t want to sleep in the ship, that was her business.

With nothing else to do and an urging through the Force, the Shaevalian-Umbaran approached the beautiful Twi'lek and stoic Human on her arm.

“My apologies for interrupting, but I have a feeling you’re going to need this,” Celevon spoke up, holding out the memory chip that contained an exact schematic of the facility. Thankfully, the main sights for tourists were highlighted.

He had already uploaded it to his own Vambrace and had no further need of the device.

His brows creased into a slight frown as, even closer, these two seemed even more familiar. “Have we met before? I feel as though I should remember having met the two of you at some point in the past…”

-# <@297496904282144769> <@1385116824814878940>

Vance grinned widely as he set down the bottle of Corellian Whiskey. “All right, then I shall get you a nice bottle of Bespin Cloud Carver and Whyren’s Reserve.” He then went to the liquer cabinet and pulled one bottle filled with a golden colored liquid, and a green bottle with a large Aurek on the label. He then set them down in front of the Stranger. “There you are one bottle of Bespin Cloud Carver and Whyren’s Reserve, both are some of the highest proof we have here.” He smiled. “Enjoy.”

Tasha'vel stopped briefly as she was interupted by Celevon. She couldn’t remember exactly where she had met this person, but he was vaguely familiar. “It is possible, could have been from some mission, meeting or just chance. You are familiar, do you remember him?” She turned to Bentre curiously.

Aleho returned to the lobby once more under her own control, as it seemed her master decided to once again need a free-thinking agent, as things were getting to be very complicated. He decided to leave her to her own initiative to investigate in a more subtle approach. So, she went to where the lips were loose: the local tavern.

She appeared at the bar, where one of the bartenders was tending to patrons, and waited for her to turn. She ordered a strong drink, something she could nurse while listening in to conversations around her.

The young woman found an isolated table to sit at and began to scan the tavern; she was not pleased to see familiar faces, which meant things were not going to be easy, although she had a couple of reasons she could legitimately be there without being suspicious. Even so, she did her best to remain anonymous while eavesdropping.

“I cannot recall.” He stroked his chin with his free hand. “We might have fought side by side against the Brotherhood’s enemies but,” his tone was apologetic, “I met so many people in my time as Overlord that I can be bad with faces.” He stopped stroking his chin and extended a hand. “Bentre Stahoes. And you are?” <@248237225202941964>

Tasha'Vel smiled as she leaned a bit more against Bentre’s shoulder. She noticed that the man had offered them a data disk and took it, giving it to Bentre. “Interesting, I am Tasha'vel Versea by the way.”

“Cheers, mate,” they replied, pulling the cork out of the nearest bottle, the gold one, out with their teeth and taking a long drink while holding their hood in place with their free hand– physics didn’t take kindly to big billowy hoods and tilting one’s head back to chug. After a few swallows, they set the bottle back down, about half empty, and raised a toast to the Fierrero. “And cheers you. Name or no name?”

<@185936112441622529>

Renatus nodded in thanks to Vance. “Obliged.” He then accepted the drink and downed most of it in a single swallow.

Yup, tasted like Corellia. Also regret. Nostalgia was a cruel mistress.

The Firrerreo cast a sidelong glance at his temporary patron. “What is easier for you?”

He wasn’t overly concerned if they weren’t. Knowing who you were with led to things that could get you in trouble. Like premeditation.

A rippling shrug that was accompanied by the symphonic rupturing of synovial fluid compartments and sinew sundering was Renatus’ answer.

“Not settled on a face here yet, and so yet no name. Pain in the arse to go long without one though, all pronouns and vague repetitious descriptors.” They tipped their bottleneck at him. “You didn’t seem to care for your appellations, and given where we are, I doubt you can go unrecognized, but we can pretend you’re nobody to me, if you fancy. I’ll just call you…Corl.”

Celevon gave a single nod to both, pondering how best to introduce himself, as his true name was rather… lengthly.

The public persona he used with the Brotherhood would do, as it was his legal or public name.

“I have a similar feeling when it comes to the two of you. Familiar, yet I cannot place where I met you before. Regardless… I’m Celevon Edraven Werd'a.”

He reached out and shook the offered hand of the male immediately after the data disk was removed by the female. “A pleasure to make or remake your acquaintance.”

The Shaevalian-Umbaran released the Human’s hand, then accepted the Twi'lek’s. Though, in her case, he rotated the appendage ninety degrees, bowed his head over her hand and lightly breathed across the knuckles before gently releasing her hand with a polite smile to both.

-# <@297496904282144769> <@1385116824814878940>

Aleho needed to get proactive if she wanted to appease the Sithspawn controlling her, as she didn’t dare think about what he would do to get the information he was after. So, she decided to go for the classic move as she turned and began walking to where the closest conversation was happening, and “accidentally” stumbled as she walked past. Her drink spilt all over the nearest person to her.

“Ah… crap!”

<@244244163002892288>

The “stranger” found themselves doused in what smelled like…an inhale…yes, whiskey. They couldn’t be assed to recall brands closely. The dark liquid bled down their baffleweave cloak, matting it to their skin in some places and being generally Unpleasantly Wet.

“Well,” they remarked, “I’ve been covered in worse. More a shame for the drink.”

Their tone was saccharine, cloying, a far cry from the casual affability to No It’s Corl-Atra moments before. They lifted their arm and licked the liquid off their skin with a tongue more like a butterfly’s probiscis chasing drops of nectar than any mammalian humanoid one, spearing out from the gloom of their hood.

“Alright there, friend? Why don’t you sit down with us. Perhaps you’ve had too much already?”

Vance’s eyes widened at what went down before immediately grabbing out his handkerchief and handed it to the Stranger. He then came around and offered a hand to the one that tripped. “You all right there?” His violet eyes conveying a bit of concern.

Aleho faux staggered a moment and then nodded her head at the suggestion of sitting down. She tried to give off that I’m tipsy but not yet drunk vibe as she moved to the seat.

“Yeah, I’m shorry…err…sorry about that.”

She looked over to see how she could help, but it seemed the other person was already providing aid.

“Let me buy the drinks to make up for this.”

Renatus had the fortunate tickle in the back of his mind urging him to take one step back and lean right. That way, he wasn’t the one with the moist hairline, or whatever was under the Stranger’s hood.

He looked less amused and more curious as the Firrerreo glanced between them and Aleho. His nostrils flared, not really matching the newcomer’s behaviour with the appropriate level of stink, but who’s to say?

At the very least, he could watch this play out.

<@781566475168776242> <@244244163002892288>

And the next ‘diplomatic’ mission on the docket for Kalen and the boys was representing the Ventressians at this new opening ceremony for some space station. As usual his wookie Co-Captain was napping on the couch behind him.

It was diplomatic ‘shake hands and show the patch’ sort of work that suited the pair just fine. Tahiri had likely put the 2 together playing on the fact that one was a affable hard working operative/Jedi yokel and Karracca had been a former Jedi before she was even born. Karracca’s mild notoriety and former Rebel/New Republic affiliations would also hopefully allow the 2 to influence others in viewing the Plagueians in a new ‘light’ so to speak. As always, they’re primary mission was to shake hands and keep their eyes and ears open.

“This is the JV Corra III requesting landing clearance”

“Copy that Corra III please shut down your engines we will tractor you in to hangar 3.”

Kalen did as they requested and reported back before taking his hands off the controls as he noticed the tractor beam engage.

“Hey Karra!” Kalen used his customary shout to rouse the wookie from his slumber.

“You know I’m usually not sleeping right?” Karracca growled as he say up right on the couch.

“I mean…no, I didnt actually, sometimes you do snore a little bit.”

“Those are actually naps, if I’m not snoring I’m probably just meditating.”

“Hmm…so what are you usually meditating about.”

“The force my young friend.” Karracca churled as his lumbered over to him and used his massive chubby paw to ruffle Kalen’s hair.

“I haven’t been meditating at all the last few months, weve just been too busy.”

The wookie sat down in his large custom swivel chair of the Star Courier. “You’re never too busy to meditate on the Force…when did you last have a Master? You mentioned you’re father granting you the rank of Master before you got back to this galaxy…”

“Yeah, it was our Council that granted me the title, him, my aunt and my uncle.”

Kalen swivelled his chair to face his big buddy. “But in terms of a Master…I was made a Knight at age 21 mostly because we had so many younglings needing Masters and I was one of the oldest of my generation.”

“I have a confession that I must make Kalen. I knew your grandfather, and though we often did not agree, I greatly respected him. I walked away from the Jedi Order only 3 years bef…”

Just then, an issue on the station linked to some work being done on the power systems caused the tractor beam to suddenly sputter and disengage. They were about 20 feet from landing with nothing to stop the momentum of the ship. By pure chance one of the ships starboard engines vented itself, as would happen right after they shut down, the sudden outgassing caused the ship to clip on of his radiator wings on the deck and proceed roll right over and come to a skidding stop, upside down.

Their imminent plans for long-term murder dissolved rather easily at the offer.

“If you’re buying all the drinks…then consider it forgotten.”

Another long pull was taken from the bottle of whiskey as they secreted away the handkerchief Vance had offered like stolen gold.

<@781566475168776242> <@1385116824814878940>

Vance stood up again seeing that everyone was all right and went back behind the bar again. “So another bottle of Cloud Carver or would you like to try some other bottle? I still got Sullustian Ale, Corellian Whiskey, Even Tatooine Sunrise.” He smiled again as he leaned back and observed the three.

“All of them,” intoned the stranger.

“All right you got it. Bottle of each.” He chuckled a bit. I am sure that lady is regretting her choice to buy drinks about now. He thought as he began to pull a bottle of each strong drink they had in the establishment and set them in front of the stranger.

The wince of sorrow for her poor credits being drained away almost stung. If this had been before Ashura’s return, Aleho would have been devastated; however, if she lost all her money, she’d be useless to him in the short term, as she’d be stuck in the Orian system.

“That sounds fair.”

Renatus kept watching Aleho. Did it sound fair?

Huh.

He finished his glass of whiskey and set the glass on the counter. The man’s hand settled down next to it with his fingers lightly tapping upon it.

“Are you local?” he inquired.

<@781566475168776242> <@244244163002892288>

“Huh?”

Aleho turned to look at him for a moment as his question seemed to come out of nowhere. Again, she had no reason to lie as she had legitimate reasons to be here if questioned. She kept up her tipsy act.

“Kinda! I grew up in the Orian system after being assigned a master from Naga Sadow. I’ve been away doing my own thing for the last few years, and happened to be passing, so I decided to pop by. Didn’t know about why they built this place, though.”

Her energetic chattiness portrayed someone who had a loose tongue due to intoxication. At least, that had been the effect she was aiming for.

The still nameless stranger was busily arranging their bottles, seemingly according to some system. Once satisfied, they tipped a little salute towards Corl.

“No more than the Polypodiopsida in the lobby. Are you local, Corl?” And then a gesture to the Togruta. “And you, may I have your name?”

“Only if I may get your name too.”

She replied with a smile as this was going better than she had expected for the moment. The situation could change at any moment, but she just had to keep things organic.

“I’m Aleho.”

“So given so granted,” murmured the stranger, toasting. “Alas, this face hasn’t a name. I suppose choosing one will be necessary after all. Tell me, Aleho, have you ever wanted to be anything other than what you are? Would you be him, if you could?” They pointed to Vance. “Him?” To ‘Corl.’

“No, I would not.”

The woman replied matter-of-factly, as despite everything she had experienced, she had forged herself into the person she was today. Even her current situation would change that. If anything, her burning desire to murder the hell out of her master for betraying her the way he did spurned her on like a woman scorned. The fire of her conviction burned in her eyes, as no matter how much she hated being used this way, the mental image of running Ashura through with her lightsaber kept her somewhat functional. Aleho forced a smile onto her face.

“You look like a Kevin to me.”

The stranger coughed a dry laugh, breath damp with alcohol. Nonetheless, their hidden eyes were sharp under the baffling hood; they could tell the difference between closed capillaries rising to pores and ones flush and dilated from the drug, knew the actual looseness of an inebriated gait compared to an exaggerated and stilted stumble. The Togruta was only badly acting drunk, as if she’d only ever seen it played on the holonet and not experienced.

“Nothing to stop one of you from calling me a Kevin, I would suppose. Though you may tonight call me…” A slight hitch of breath, and another subtle series of crackling joints and lower, softer wet sounds lost to the drone of the club music. They pushed their hood back at last, sweeping back the cloak so it could better dry. “Digitalis.”

The stranger showed themselves to be a rather delicate-featured man, perhaps Zeltron, though paler than most, their skin the softest magenta, light but distinctly inhuman. Their shoulder-length hair fell in a slight wave that curled below their ears, originating from their scalp in a baby pink and graduating into equally pastel green then blue at the tips. Sharp cheekbones highlighted an otherwise soft, if not somewhat sad face with a scar bisecting the left brow over big violet eyes.

DarkHawk and Ty stepped off the Reaver and into the station’s hangar. It was clear no expense had been spared on the refurbishment. Everything gleamed with fresh polish, the décor accented with motifs of the ancient Clan empire in a quiet homage to tradition. A small reception party of hangar personnel was already waiting to greet the Consul and his companion.

“Consul Sadow, General O’Baieron,” the commander began with a sharp bow, “Welcome, welcome! It is an honor to have you here for the festivities. If there is anything my team can do, we are at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Commander. Just see that the Reaver is refueled. My apologies for the theatrics on our approach…the General needed to test some new equipment,“ DarkHawk said looking directly at Ty.

“Affirmative, sir. I trust the General was pleased with the results?”

Ty paused gathering his thoughts, his tone dry. “Adequate… for the moment. One word of caution, Commander, there’s a rather uppity droid on the bridge. Passive-aggressive, sharp tongue, prone to fangs when provoked. Best keep your people clear of her, savvy?”

“Affirmative, General.”

As they moved on, DarkHawk cast him a sidelong look. If Ty had hair, it would have been standing on end. He still hadn’t grown comfortable with the title of General. For most of his career he had been an enlisted pilot, bleeding alongside the best in the ranks of the Imperial Navy’s SPECOP gunship teams. He’d risen to the highest enlisted rank of Sergeant Major before his path carried him to the Brotherhood. Commissioned immediately, the rank still sat uneasily on his shoulders.

“Perhaps you should start wearing your old fatigues, with all those stripes down the sleeves,” DarkHawk said with a smirk.

“Don’t bloody tempt me,” Ty scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The station was already alive with festivity. As they made their way further in, it became obvious they were a touch late to the party. The halls buzzed with familiar faces and a scattering of new ones. Glasses clinked, laughter carried, and a smooth stream of music filled the background, just loud enough to keep the energy high without drowning out conversation.

They spotted the Deputy Grand Master speaking with Vance, one of Tasha’s cohorts. DarkHawk and Ty paused to pay their respects, receiving a nod in return.

“Must be some rather fine hooch doing the rounds,” Ty muttered, scanning the room. “Everyone’s well on their way to being delightfully tiddly.”

“All the better for us,” DarkHawk replied. “The drunker they get, the better our odds at the tables. Speaking of which, if I know Lord Keibatsu, there are a couple high stake tables on station. Wanna snag us a seat at one? I’ll grab the drinks.”

Ty gave a crooked grin. “And do try not to insult my palate. Top shelf only, ol’ boy. I’ve standards to maintain.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major,” DarkHawk said with a chuckle.

He strolled to the bar, leaned casually on the counter, and addressed the tender. “Two whiskeys, one neat, one on the rocks. Corellian, if you’ve got it.”

Seeing the others content for the moment, he turned to the Overlord of Sadow. “Coming right up.”

With a twirling flourishing bow to the Overlord and a smirk, he reached down in front, grabbed two glasses and set one on the counter. He then took the other and scooped some ice into it before resting it next to the other glass again. Finally, he reached up into the liquor cabinet and pulled one of the older bottles of Corellian Whiskey off the shelf.

Spinning on his heel, he turned around again, opened the bottle and carefully poured one straight into the glass with no ice, and then poured it into the second ice filled glass. After finishing up both, he closed the bottle, turned around and stowed it away again.

Finally, he went back and set both drinks in front of Darkhawk.

He chuckled as he leaned back for a moment.“Nothing like a good Corellian Whiskey to start the evening. Good luck on those tables.” He replied as he then took a rag and cleaned the countertop.

“I hear they can be quite fierce and I don’t doubt you will have plenty of high stakes tonight. Just be careful and remember.” He winked. “House always wins.”

“Cool name.”

Aleho remarked as the fruity cocktail she had ordered was delivered to the table, which tasted absolutely amazing as her initial shock turned to delight, her eyes widening as she slurped through the straw she was using.

“So, what do you make of this station. Seems to be a very grand gesture on the clan’s part to better relations with other clans. I’ve been disconnected from Brotherhood affairs due to work in the Outer Rim and Unknown Regions.”

<@244244163002892288> <@185936112441622529>

After extracting themselves from their now upside down, and essentially totalled starship(3 of the 4 radiator fins were damaged beyond repair) Karracca, and D stood a few yards away as Kalen was busy berating the stations dockmasters. The entire thing was so random and shocking, Kalen wanted to know what had happened. All the while the stations damage control parties were busy putting out minor fires and cleaning up debris that had been strewn about from the damaged fins.

The insurance company would write the ship off within a few days after reviewing the data. But now they would obviously have to book a ride home. Karracca churled at D “So much for keeping a low profile on this mission”

D-3PO, whose head was stuck at a severely angle, almost pinned to right shoulder since he had landed so hard and so awkwardly during the crash, replied “Indeed Master Karracca, this unfortunate event will likely be reported to you and Master Joss’s superiors back in the Aliso system for sure.” The droid swivelled his whole body towards Kalen who was still interrogating the dockmasters, who were being quite apologetic considering it was their tractor beam failure that had caused the crash.

“And my droid, who’s paying for that to get fixed, look at him, his cranial servo’s are all Karked up!”

She raised a curious eyebrow at the greeting. There were many different greeting customs she had observed before, but this one was not one she was familiar with before. Still,she nodded politely returning her hand to Bentre’s. “ Likewise Celevon. It is good to see many non clan members of the Brotherhood here for the grand opening. Do you have any particular interest in the casino, nightclub, bar or spa? Bentre and I were going to check out the Pazaak tables and enjoy a couple drinks.”

“He could always join us. I mean, the Overlord has already welcomed many within our borders today. It seems that we could further that hospitality, in our own way.”

Malisane sipped his drink, occasionally hearing a slurping sound from below from the creature as it did likewise. He was still quietly people watching. he noticed the clan Consul enter with his Duros companion, who Malisane had met many times on missions against the Collective, Severians and the rest. After the mercenary Vance had given the clan leader a drink. Malisane walked over. the creature trailing behind. He gave a polite nod, “Consul, and General, it is good to see you both again.” The creature next to him looked up studying both of them curiously but thankfully remained quiet. <@524388230481707009>

Renatus allowed an internal chuckle at “Corl”. He could almost hear the follow-up. Something about that killing people.

“I spent many years in Orion space,” the Firrerreo explained, yet did not continue. Short and to the point, as ever. At the same time, he idly wondered if Bentre and Tasha remembered him. He had felt their signatures during one of his sweeps.

The bar counter was getting crowded. One of the Con…federates? Concubines? Commanders…one of the little Brotherhood leaders there, the batty fellow. A little Ewok and some old corpse of a Sith flavor. Aides and asides. And they could feel eyes on them too.

They weren’t drunk enough for this yet.

The Zeltron-ish Digitalis, with his subtly stolen features, drank the entire rest of the bottle of whiskey before responding to either of their conversational partners.

“It seems to me this whole lot is fond of grand gestures,” they replied after opening the bottle of Blood Carver. “‘The Ancient Empire of Clan Naga Sadow, Consul Darkhawk and Darth Ashen invite you to Shâsot’nwûl Station…” they echoed the announcement in perfect mimicry, if slightly more dramatic and slightly less inflective on the names of the men. His tongue checked perfectly, spitting gutteral syllables of ur-Kiäat. “'The Struggle for Peace’ is quite something to name a place competing with a Nal Hutta tourist commodity. But the wine run aplenty, so I have no true complaint. Here’s to your return to the system, it seems… Both of you.”

Big violet eyes just like Aleho’s, only more predatory, flicked between the Togruta and the Deputy. Their lips quirked, and they sipped at their new bottle.

“Who knows? Perhaps Corl here even knew your master, if not you. Who were they?”

<@185936112441622529> <@781566475168776242>

Aleho felt a sharp pain go through her mind, warning her to not say too much, as she was about to happily blurt out Ashura’s name just to spite the controlling karker. She tried to hide the wince, but it still crossed her face.

“Probably know him, but he hasn’t been around much, honestly, I can’t say much as I haven’t seen him in some years. He left to do his thing, and I’m doing mine.”

She was doing her best to skirt around the question without lying, as the truth was that she hadn’t seen him at all, as he was only in her mind and nothing else.

Digitalis gave a hum to the evasive answer, minding a name left unsaid. Already unkeen of the woman, he briefly focused towards her mind, finding a twist of pain and another. A Dark presence, burrowed in like a leech or corpseweed, tendrils knotted amid gray matter. This Togruta was little more than a paltry pawn.

How irksome.

Withdrawing, disinterested, Digitalis went back to their drinking, giving a supple shrug.

“Cheers to doing one’s ‘own thing,’ then, hmm?” Yet another toast to both her and Corl, yet another deep drink.

Socorra nearly rolled her single eye at Jak’s silent whining about having to be in Dajorra for all of a few minutes. She hadn’t realized the grizzled, jaded veteran was going to be their taxi for the event. Considering that the old guard Arconan herself was ten years his junior but just as weathered, he didn’t say it aloud. But the mentalist heard it all the same.

Times have changed old man. People with it. Well, most those you knew, we knew, are dead now, anyway. Let’s drink.

The last time she’d been in Sadow space - at least in this timeline - was over a decade ago, during the Horizons plague. A few Keibatsu, Pepoi, and Arconans, all running from or fighting insane Brotherhood alike, and having a damn good time doing it. Most of those folks were gone now too… or insane themselves. Socorra especially missed Sai, her dark-skinned desert kin with the enviable gorgeous halo of hair.

Damn her perfect memory.

“All three good,” she replied to Miho at the concierge, with an almost imperceptive shrug. “But considered rude to clear out new house, maybe game after drinks.” She was only half-joking. Most acquaintances knew better than to gamble with the woman, in sabacc or otherwise. And it was rude - unless what you emptied was their casks, not their coffers.

She assumed it was still Clan Never Sober, after all.

“Malisane, always a pleasure to see you out and about. Its been a minute has it not?”

Ty adjusted his coat with the ease of habit, posture regal as ever, before offering a deliberate bow of greeting. “Indeed, it’s been some time. The honor is mine as always,” he said, his words carrying that polished Duros cadence. His eyes lingered a moment on the curious creature at Malisane’s side, before he returned his attention with a faint, knowing smile.

“And tell me what mischief or debauchery has managed to occupy your time of late? The Deathshead still intact, I trust?”

At that, Ty gave a soft scoff, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “That Lancer-class of yours is a sturdy lady. I’d wager she remains as formidable as ever, still a corker, and running as sprightly as the bee’s knees.”

Energy filled the room with a static charge. People entered and exited the place at a steady pace. The bar was busier than a Loth-cat trying to cover crap on a durasteel floor.

The back corner booth was obscured. The light had gone out above it leaving it in a dark shadow. The silhouette of a woman could be seen sitting there, watching everyone as they came and went. No one seemed to notice her though.

Ashia took a sip of her drink. A lot of people had shown up for this. She had stepped in and slid to the back quickly. Keeping to the shadows, as was her way.

A lot of people she hadn’t seen in years were here which meant one thing…she would have to be social.

She let out a heavy sigh. This was for Sully, she reminded herself.. The guy needed some shore leave and he loved a good party.

‘Maybe we’ll find a new contact.’ she thought.

She took another sip and watched the room, waiting for him to arrive.

“How fortuitous. My sister-in-law suggested we meet up at the Casino, as she’s making certain we have suites or rooms for the duration of our stay,” the Shaevalian-Umbaran replied to both, taking a quick glance at the map. “The Devaronian’s Dice, according to this,” he added, tapping the device on his wrist.

-# <@1385116824814878940>

“Sounds like a plan, I shall follow your lead, Bentre.” She replied while waiting for her husband to lead the way into the turbolifts to “The Devaronian’s Dice.” She had a feeling that this would be certainly an evening to remember though she may lose quite a few credits playing, but still she would rather enjoy herself than waste it on boring paperwork anyway.

Malisane nodded politely in appreciation, “Yes the Deathshead is a fine ship. I have looked at several other models since I returned and can not find one I prefer for space and functionality.”

He paused considering the first question. “I have not been up to much recently. I am still guiding Nova the gammorean take over the cantina at Dentaavi. I have been working as a consultant to the Aeotheran government on reconstruction projects and flood defence improvement. I had performed a few tasks for the Inquisitorious concerning those malcontents the Quantum Shadows. I am still trying to locate the former Collective agent known as the Third Cousin, Twice Removed, who has been seen several more times on Aeotheran in the last year. And I am also helping a former aquaintence with a family matter. And yourself Consul?” <@524388230481707009>

The Togurta in question had the feeling “Kevin” was looking down on her; however, the growing sense of danger being whispered to her through the Force was jarring. A looming threat that was beyond anything she faced was incoming, and she needed to leave. However, that was easier said than done when the invisible choke chain around her neck tightened. Why the hell did the degenerate nerf herder controlling her want her to continue this foolhardy mission?

Aleho couldn’t let this continue, but she had very little control, so she mustered her willpower to stave off Ashura’s presence, which was deeply rooted in her mind. Her eyes glaze over for a moment, and blood ran down from her left nostril which she quickly wiped away. She staggered off her chair and aimed for the exit.

“P-please excuse me.”

<@244244163002892288> <@185936112441622529>

After waiting in line at the concierge desks for nearly half an hour, Kalen and the gang checked in to their customary subpenthouse suite. House Ventress certainly did know how to take care of their Envoys to be sure. A repulsor crane had been used to gently right his stricken Star Courier which allowed them to atleast retrieve their luggage from the now jostled and messy interior of the ship.

The suite was nice, and came stocked with a full minibar which they began enjoying immediately upon entry. Karra found kitchen utensils that would serve as tools and began working to fix D’s broken neck servo’s.

“I was hoping we’d have more time to settle but…looks like we should probably get down stares and do the ‘meet and greet’ thing.” The Jedi said as Karra was finishing up on the droid.

“Oh thank you Master Karracca, my visual sensors were starting to misalign” he tested his range of mobility bobbing and swinging his head around with awkward mechanical precision.

“Uh,” Bentre looked from Tasha'Vel to Celevon before shruggin, “sure. That turbolift is over this way.” He motioned to one of the turbolifts just off the lobby and started walking over in that direction.

He jabbed at the call button, waiting until the doors opened before motioning for both the Shaevalian and the Twi'lek to get in. Once the others were settled, he slipped inside. He glanced at the control panel, poking at it a few times.

“Just not sure if I am going to have to borrow some credits by the end of the night though, Tash’. Then again,” he chuckled, “she might have to borrow some from me. I know how poorly she gambles.” He glanced sideways at his wife as the turbolift hummed, moving them quickly towards the Devaronian’s Dice.

Digitalis’ brows raised as Aleho hurried away.

“Well then,” they remarked, and turned back to Corl. “Just you and I again. Unless you’ve some old friends to invite about for socializing.”

He flicked his fingers about in a gesture to encompass the room.

<@185936112441622529>

She shot the man a glare, before sighing.

“Yeah, yeah, well my darling Bentre, perhaps luck will be in my favor tonight.” She grinned as the doors opened.

Stepping out, the Elder glanced about at all the various games available. There was pazaak, dice, sabaac, and some slot machines.

“Think I might have to borrow your credit chip tonight, Bentre. Cause this is trouble staring at me.” She then smirked and winked to the two men accompaning her.

“So which table gentlemen? Or did you want to run some slots?”

As he already felt comfortable with the married couple — likely due to the sense of familiarity — Celevon couldn’t help a small smirk at their bickering. Or perhaps it was flirting? Perhaps both?

Truthfully, with all of his senses pulled so close to himself, it was hard to tell.

“I typically only gamble with my life, never my money, but who am I to deny a lovely lady her request?” the Shaevalian-Umbaran grinned back. He frowned internally, then shrugged. “First round of drinks are on me. After a bit of liquid courage, I shall be swapping to a smooth caf.”

“I have no preference on which table. I’ll let the two of you pick.”

Truthfully, it would be more difficult to avoid picking the pockets of anyone unwary and passing by. However, he did promise.

His word was his bond, after all.

<@297496904282144769>

The agony spiked through her mind once more as she staggered away from the table and to the exit. Aleho’s vision wavered as she focused on listening to ripples of warning the Force was sending her way.

Yet Ashura was not on board with that, as he wanted to continue the mission; however, she resolved to retreat, holding out for the moment. She lost count of how many people she bumped past on her flight from the tavern to the lobby.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings to see any sign of incoming danger while she plotted her escape as blood continued to run down her nostrils from the strain of fighting the iron control of her master’s conditioning.

“The same. Between Clan operations and a few personal contingencies back on Shaevalis Prime, there’s little time for much else. Still, I have to scoop up as many contracts as I can to pay for this one’s guilty pleasures of constantly upgrading the Reaver.” DarkHawk gestured toward Ty, trying not to let a smile slip through.

“Bollocks! Without those upgrades, we or at least you wouldn’t even be here. The bloody messes you get yourself into, I’m the one hauling your bacon out. Especially when whiskey and stogies are involved!”

“Yet you never seem to mind partaking in those rewards…”

“A gentleman never turns down whiskey and stogies,” Ty replied with aristocratic ease.

Malisane found himself almost amused at their exchange. “What contingencies did you have to deal with on Shaevalis?” he asked.

“A group of poachers tried to claim pelts from a couple packs of Onyx Stalkers. In the end, they became the hunted.”

Ty chuckled. “And let’s not forget your promise to the king. DarkHawk gave his word he’d attend the Royal Ball if granted permission to build Mountain Head in the northern range. Tell me, ol’ chum, do you still have that monkey suit you wore?”

“I do, and I don’t need any help from you.” DarkHawk shot him a look as Ty scoffed.

“Mountain Head?” Malisane pressed.

“Yes. For attending the king’s annual ball, he granted me permission to build a retreat adjacent to the Sapphire Corridors, cradled between the Torr Vellin and Ebonspine ranges. You’ll have to come see it for yourself. We can watch the Stalkers hunt.”

“Sounds promising,” Malisane replied.

The electric hum of the idle hardware was the only break in silence on-board. From in it the cockpit Creon was hailed by an automated droid message asking for clearance codes. After his responce input he was given clearance to a designated hangar and a tractor beam from the station pulled in his ship.

“EC Pressure?” Creon typed into a console. Soon after it’s nearby monitor responded with: “3.45 n/c m^2 squared”.

“Deactivate: Probe Retract System (PRS),” Creon added whilst inputting the administrator authorization codes for an authentification security measure.

“Warning,” the monitor flashed, “Cells 4 panels 8-12 overheated, malfunctioning.” It followed with a list of fault codes.

Maybe they’ll have an astromech with welding services onboard, Creon hoped hopelessly scrolling all of the fault codes onscreen.

Past the energy generated wall’s blue hue to harbor opened into a chrome hangar of sleek durasteel. Creon took a moment in admiration of it’s expanse and organization. Automated guidance systems within reach of the tractor beam kept his space vehicle stable and landed it in a proper parking space relative to the ship’s scanned dimensions. Outside the hangar bay he met with a uniformed officer employed by the station. Beside him was a probe droid, and the gentleman explained the need for protocol in sweeping ships for potential hazards and/or controband. Creon informed him of Areticus on-board asleep and requested astromech maintenance services and left control of the star courier to the valet.

Malisane nodded. Architectural design always piqued his interest. “I would like that Consul,” he replied, “and if you need someone to look over the plans before commencement to suggest any improvements let me know. I have some experience in these matters.” He took another sip of his drink, and his eyes glanced down briefly. The robed creature was stood passively, making no sound and its red eyes merely flicked from one to the other of the Consul and the Duros as each spoke. Malisane frowned. It was still impossible to guess what it was thinking when it was passive, or even if it was thinking. He sensed nothing from its mind. He looked back at the clan leader. “So this facility seems a vast improvement on the one on Dentaavi, and seems well received.” <@524388230481707009>

The strength of her resolve wavered under Ashura’s unrelenting presence in her mind. His consciousness was pressing down upon her as he threatened to possess her.

For now, he was giving her orders remotely, which her conditioned mind accepted, despite her willpower fighting to remain in control. However, Aleho was unable to hold out as her resistance waned, and she came to a stop in the lobby, a hand resting on the wall as her breathing steadied.

His orders crystallised in her mind, and she acted upon them while internally raging. Why was he giving her orders to inspect the ventilation pumps at the station?

“None that I maintain contact with,” Corl-natus replied. The Firrerreo put his back to the bar and pulled out a datapad. “I expected crossing paths.”

Knowing a clear ‘please don’t talk to me’ when he saw one with the datapad coming out, Digitalis tipped another cheers and focused in on drinking and people-watching. It was after a few minutes of this that they offered, lightly and smoothly, “Give a little mental knock if you need a rescue tonight. I could take on your likeness and let these sycophants and auld acquaintances unforgot yammer on to me-as-you while you slipped away.”

Whilst he waited for the married couple to decide what game/table they wanted to play, Celevon Werd'a swept his eyes around the large, open area. Keeping his senses so tightly restricted to himself tended to make the Shaevalian-Umbaran more paranoid, but keeping his head on a swivel had saved his life on more than one occasion.

It kept him from unintentionally invading the sanctity of the minds of others.

Without realizing it, the Seeker noted all of the entrances and exits, as well as a noteworthy path of escape. It was noteworthy, as he could easily leap from one slot machine to the next at a run, then it was merely a tuck and roll through the door of the staff exit.

One of the servers passed close enough to draw his attention and the native Corellian gestured for them to approach. It was difficult to tell, even up close, what their gender was. They could easily be a beautiful woman or a male with delicate features, quite androgynous. And the professional attire only made it that much more difficult to tell.

He pulled out a gold credit chip and placed it in their hand, ignoring the protest. Celevon gestured to the Human and Twi'lek as part of his party. “We’ll have Four shots of Peking Exploders, a Caf Umbara and an Elba Beer…”

Here, the Force Disciple turned to his two newly made acquaintances. “Two of the shots are for you. Would you like anything else?”

-# <@297496904282144769> <@1385116824814878940>

She thought a moment. “Well I am fine with Sabaac or Pazaak. Up to Bentre on his preference. As for drinks, I am fond of Tatooine sunrise.” She replied as the waiter took the gold credit chip and went off to the bar to fill the order.

Tasha'Vel found an empty table and set herself down in one of the chairs. She watched the two Corellians still standing and smirked.

“Figured I’d claim a table while we wait for the drinks.”

Bentre looked around, thinking. “Well, I mean I have my pazaak deck with me.” His face scrunched up as he considered his potential drinks. “Well, I guess that I can take a Corellian Whiskey.” He gave Celevon a nod, and moved to sit next to his wife.

“So pazaak table it is then.” She grinned wrapping her left arm around his right arm as she leaned her head against his shoulder slightly.

“Maybe I should place bets on you winning Bentre. After all, you seem to have a knack for it.”

Kalen and Karracca and Reece(the cocky old R3 droid) found themselves playing pazaak and one of the more high stakes table in the gamble lounge. The 2 humanoids in the group wee decidedly drunk. Not so drunk that they were losing terribly, but actually just drunk enough that some divine power was likely looking out for them and providing them with a statistically improbable series of wins.

Playing against the house, the 2 Jedi were each up several thousand credits. And the put boss was now wondering whether to cut them of or overfeed them liqour. It was a common decision that had be made by gambling den owners and high class casino bosses like him had to deal with daily across the galaxy.

“Pazaaak!” Kalen yelled raising his arms in triumph again.

Karracca popped a 19, and the dealer stood on 18, again. Everyone was a winner.

Reece burbled to himself in low beeps and toots…it was statistically outlandish they his flesh and blood compatriots had keep this winning streak alive this long. The R3 just hoped, for their sake they wouldn’t…

And then Kalen the ominous phrase that Reece feared was coming.

“Let it ride! Lets double up again” Kalen said while Karracca pulled back half of his winnings on the hand as he had been doing since the win.

Kalen then busted and lost it all. Karracca pushed. And Reece screeched for them to quit while they were still ahead.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran double-checked that the drink order was correct, then moved to join the married couple as the other native Corellian pulled out a Pazaak deck. “Peking Exploders are a delicious drink mixture that I discovered in my travels, so I hope you like it. Each is a blend of equal parts Corellian Whiskey, Créme and Caf Liquors.”

The Twi'lek continued to grin at her husband as a droid joined them at the table, which brought a momentary frown to Celevon’s features before he was distracted by a ping from his wrist-worn comlink. “It looks as though my sister-in-law will be joining us shortly.”

The Seeker’s frown returned as he realized the droid was still at their table. The stare was apparently enough to prompt it into introducing itself as a Gambling Unit, if they wished that service.

He merely shook his head and decided to let the other two decide, then responded to Bentre’s query. “I’ve played a few hands here and there, though I would have to say any winnings I’ve had were more as a result of luck than skill.

<@297496904282144769>

Aleho’s footsteps echoed through the dim corridors, a hollow rhythm that wasn’t her own. Every movement felt commanded. Every breath, borrowed. She didn’t want to be here. She knew this was Ashura’s doing. This was his will, and she was obeying it like a loyal agent.

But somewhere deep inside, a sliver of herself screamed back.

Stop. Don’t obey.

Her vision pulsed at the edges, a flicker of static dancing across her eyes. Still, her body moved, carrying her to the maintenance sector where the ventilation conduits pulsed like the veins of a living beast. The metallic hum of the air systems surrounded her. She could feel Ashura inside her head, whispering, urging.

Her hand reached toward a vent panel, trembling, unwilling and there, half-hidden behind pipes, was a canister wrapped in silver duct tape. She tore it free and froze. The label was faded, but she didn’t need to read it. She knew. Nerve gas. Planted by one of Ashura’s puppets.

Her pulse hammered. She couldn’t let this happen, not to her Clan and not to everyone here.

The pressure in her skull grew unbearable. She clutched her head, choking back a scream as she fought the commands burning through her mind.

“No… I’m not your weapon.”

Blood ran from her nose, warm and slick against her trembling hand. Her knees buckled as she fought against the building pressure within her mind.

<@284848346672136192>

Karracca noticed and recognized a few of the members of the approaching group.

He roared a greeting at the Twi'lek and Celevon as he rounded up his chops and decided that the droid Reece was probably they. He was still up a few thousand credits.

Kalen, drunk as a Sindaran Skunk, wanted to go to the ATM and get more credits, but a large paw on the shoulder and stern look from his wookie accomplice caused him to instead do what all drunks do when they are stopped from doing something they want to do. He focused on what would get to eat and wondered over to food stand to buy a Shivastaven Kabob with what was left of his ‘seed money’.

Karracca turned back to the group that had joined them.

“Long time no see. How have you all been” Karracca growled pleasantly.

Malisane walked back to the bar, ordering another flavoured water for himself and the creature. This time it took the drink quietly. He looked around the rest of the casino curiously. People seemed to be enjoying the facilities, whether gambling or sampling some of the games. His gaze took in a group of Orian Warhost officers clustered round a large screen on one side, eagerly watching the display. Curiously the Adept wandered over to see what the attraction was, the creature quietly following. The officers were watching what appeared to be a strategy game being played on the screen by a male chiss officer sat in a gaming chair in front of it. He seemed to be doing badly, and finally the screen flashed red and there was a collective groan from the audience as he stood up and stalked away to the bar.

“Good evening Adept,” a female voice greeted him from behind, “would you like to try our simulator?” Malisane turned to see a familiar face, “Colonel Miros,” he replied, recognising the officer, “it is good to see you. Have you been busy?” She nodded. “Since the Shar Dakhan forces were merged back into the Warhost I have been transferred to the academy on Tarthos, working on tactical training simulations.” Malisane looked back at the screen. “So what is the attraction?” Kala Miros followed his gaze. “This is our new multi platform strategic simulator. The mission parameters were designed by Admiral Simonetti,” she smiled again, “so far no one has beaten the higher level scenarios, or come close. Would you like to attempt it?” Malisane considered this. He was not really a tactician himself, though he knew the basics. “I am content to watch others attempt it.” They looked round as the crowd around the simulator suddenly became louder as a new challenger sat in the chair, short and heavily robed. “Hey, who is the jawa?” the colonel asked in surprise. Malisane cursed as the creature began the simulation. It was not supposed to draw attention to itself. “That is not a jawa,” he replied, “I suggest you watch this closely, you might find this interesting.”

Tasha'Vel smiled at Karracca, showing her canines and in perfect Shyriiwook growled back.

“It is nice to meet you, I am Tasha'Vel Versea. We have been doing well. How are you enjoying the evening?”

It had been awhile since she had encountered another Wookie since… her former friend had passed away years ago. So this was indeed a very pleasant surprise. She took the shot given and downed it. Then turned and in basic answered. “Not a bad shot Celevon. Sister in law, well sounds like you are gonna have your hands full.” She giggled.

“Well I am up for some Sabaac or Pazaak. Doesn’t matter to me. We could do a few of one and then the other if you gentlemen would like.”

She then turned back to the Wookie smiling and spoke again in Shyriiwook.

“Hope the drunk one hasn’t given you too much of a headache.”

The old silverback veteran glanced over his shoulder at Kalen who was still fumbling for credits to pay for his Shist-Kabob.

“Oh. Kalen? Nah he’s fine? Atleast 4 or 5 more alcoholic beverages away from acute toxicity level. He’ll be asleep before he even orders another one.” Karracca growled in his native tongue.

“Well at least he can take some drinks and rest should be good for him.” She looked at the older, heavier set silverback Wookie. There was a familiarity about him, like she had seen him before, but maybe it was in passing. Because she never really had an opportunity to just stop whatever mission was handed to her from the DC or her Clan. Still she was actually happy to see him here on the station. Almost as if Tarryhn were about again.

Karracca tongue rolled a few short phrases, “You’re right. Reece, go stay with Kalen, make sure he gets back to the suite alright.”

The R3 droid beep a snarky response but complied.

“This is the 20 credit minimum table for Pazaak if you want to join me.” The wookie growled at Tasha as he sat back down that the semicircular table ans the dealer passed him his marker back. The chair creaked and groaned under his 400+ pound frame as he pulled out several 50 credit chips from his bandolier. <@1385116824814878940>

Karracca growled at the Pazaak dealer, “So whats your name?”

The Bothan female replied. “Ohtmeil Hether. And yours?”

“Golden Envoy Karracca. At your service…hit me” he said after the first cards were dealt.

Aleho reached for the canister with trembling hands as the compulsion overpowered her sense of control. She couldn’t stop herself, no matter how much she fought. Ashura mocked her weakness within her mind, and as much as she wanted to disagree, she couldn’t help but rage as he wanted her to.

It didn’t take long for her to set up the system, and the canister of nerve gas was released into the air ventilation system. She could feel Ashura’s elation of success turn into a silent rage as nothing happened. No gas was entered, and it was then she realised someone else was playing here.

She laughed because someone was screwing with him, which made her happy. It appears he wasn’t the mighty and all-powerful puppet master he thought himself to be. Aleho loved it and mocked him mentally along their link.

Then his rage bubbled to the surface of her mind as he completely possessed her body. Aleho’s consciousness seemed to teeter on the brink of unconsciousness. Ashura flexed Aleho’s hands and turned to look at the security camera with cold eyes.

“Muz? Is this your doing, isn’t it? Yes…”

Aleho’s voice was venomous as he spoke with her voice.

“Do you think this path of weakness will lead our empire to rise and endure? Playing nice with the other Clans has never worked in the long term. Peace is a lie. There is only Passion. Through Passion, I gain Strength. Through Strength, I gain Power. Through Power, I gain Victory. Through Victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. That is our only path forward!”

Those words resonated with Aleho as the Sith code was a core tenet for all Sith. Ashura continued to stare at the security camera as his intent burned in Aleho’s eyes.

“There will be strife! There will be death! There will be chaos! I will ensure our brethren suffer so they can grow stronger and stand ready for the next great war, as it is coming, and this great empire of ours needs to stand proud and strong!”

She couldn’t believe the conviction in her voice as the horror at Ashura’s words burned into her. Aleho couldn’t let this happen; how could he allow himself to do something to the place he himself had served and helped grow?

“If I need to be that villain to ensure this empire is strong, then so be it. You may have won this round since I’ve played all the cards I have set aside. But know this. You can’t anticipate my every action, and I am willing to step it up.”

Aleho linked with Ashura from the bond they formed over the years; she caught a series of mental images of everything he had planned, and it made her angry. Nay, she was bloody enraged by what she was seeing. She hated Ashura already, but what she saw in her mind seemed to break something inside her. Whatever lingering emotions she once had for him snapped along with the master/apprentice bond.

The Sith code went through her mind once more as she growled it out as she fought to get him out of her mind once and for all. Blood began to run from her eyes, ears, and nose.

“You… will… no… keep… me… chained… up… any… longer…”

Ashura’s possession of her body flickered as her mind fought his, whatever bottleneck she’d reached years ago preventing her from pushing forward. It had been her own fault, really; she went forward with her goal of archaeology rather than following the Sith path. Knowledge and Power for all instead of pushing her own greed and desires. It had stunted her growth. Now, she knew she wasn’t strong enough to stop Ashura, but she wanted to. She wanted that Power; Power to fight him. Power to kill him. Power for her own sake. It burned inside her like a raging inferno, like nothing she had felt before.

She could feel Ashura’s shock as she collapsed to a knee and vomited up blood. Aleho grabbed her head as she allowed her hatred to fuel the Dark Side, as she pushed back against him. Flashes of her life with Ashura from their first meeting, through all the time together that formed something connected between the two people. A bond. She let it form in her mind’s eye as a cord connecting her to Ashura. From across the veil of space, she could see him looking at her as the cord connected them.

“Do you really think you can do this without me, Aleho? You are just too weak. You decided to pursue your dream of becoming an archaeologist rather than a path to Power. You are not strong enough to last without me. Just let me handle everything.”

His voice echoed in her mind, but she wasn’t listening to him anymore. Aleho metaphysically took hold of the cord that connected them and stared back at him across the void.

“You were my master, and I loved you like a father. Yet none of it was real, and all you wanted was a pawn to do your bidding. I was just too blind and stupid to see it. I hate you. I hate you! I hate you!!! I will not be your puppet any more. I will stop you, Ashura. I will not rest until my lightsaber removes your kriffing head from your shoulders.”

The cord she held burned as she willed it to break, and as the connection snapped. Aleho collapsed on the floor as the Force broke that bond. The psionic backlash affected both her and Ashura (wherever he was hiding himself). The previous conversation between her and Ashura had taken place within her mind, but she now voices her thoughts.

“My… chains… are… broken…”

Her consciousness fades, but before doing so, she whispers a single word.

“Inos.”

<@284848346672136192>

The area around the figure playing the simulator had gone quiet, aside from a small amount of whispering. The creature was also quiet, its red eyes flickering across the screen and its gloved paws making subtle movements on the controls. The scene on the large screen in front of it was very active though, with fleet movements and explosions and statistical figures appearing. Malisane stood calmly watching, registering no surprise. Beside him though the usually placid Kala Miros watched in amazement. “I do not believe it, he is winning convincingly. No one has come close to that.” “It has an impressive level of tactical training and ability,” the adept replied. “It?” Colonel Miros replied suddenly, as she focused her eyes on the barely moving figure, “is that a droid?” She turned her face to glare at the elder. “That is against the rules.” “No, not a droid,” Malisane replied calmly, “think back to early career with Naga Sadow Colonel, and your time spent on Kangaras. You know what the creature is.” Her face looked puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes opened. “One of them?” she asked, then she studied the figure more closely, “is that the Urtarg?” Malisane shrugged, “Not exactly,” he replied, “it no longer leads its kin. It is now in exile.” She considered what he had said. “Why is it here?” “I have promised to help restore it, if possible.”

It took a fair amount of alcohol to get a 450lbs wookie drunk. But apparently the bar in the gaming parlour Karracca had sat in for the last 4 hours had enough in stock.

He was actually up about 6000 credits when he staggered thumpingly away from the Pazaak table.

He growled politely at one of the uniformed attendants at the customers service desk “Where’s my suite, hik, I dont seem to recall, hik, at the moment.”

The rest of the conversation was nothing more then a blur. But it resulted in the massive wookie being dropped off at him and Kalens suite on a large repulsor sled being pushed by one of the concierges.

So there was, like an Emperor being brought to his bed chamber on a litter. After fumbling at the door for a few seconds he make it inside and passed out on the couch with a thud.

“Oh Master Karracca sir, might I…” D-3PO started before realizing the wookie was out cold. He then covered his big furry Master with a throw blanket that was entirely too small, and went and shut himself down in the corner.

“And…..hit me.” The next card that popped up was a five.

“Sir is at 15.” The dealer droid’s voice was cool, and professional. That was one thing that irritated the Son of Sadow. Droids were next to impossible to read. It took half the fun out of the tension of gambling when he couldn’t try to read the dealer.

“Go ahead, hit me again.” The droid flipped a card. It was a six.

“Sir is at 21. The hand is lost.”

Godsdamnit. Bentre looked over at the small pile of credits as the droid swept away his bet.. This was not his night. Normally he would have hoped to have built up a few more credits. At this rate, he was going to have to ask his wife to increase his gambling pool. He reached over, and sipped at his drink, trying to stifle his irritation.

“So, Celevon, what do you think of our little corner of the galaxy?” He had to admit, while this particular project had not been amongst his machinations, Bentre Stahoes was still proud of what Clan Naga Sadow had built here. “The Overlords, past and present, have really tried. I do hope you have enjoyed your time here thus far.”

He motioned to the droid, and nodded. “Another hand, dealer.”

Tasha had watched the Wookie play and stop, before he fell asleep and watched the droid take him away. She smiled shaking her head. “Sleep well large one. May you dream of mighty hunts, and beautiful females.” She then turned to Bentre and the droid. “I will play add me.” She grinned. “All right, adding player and dealing cards.” Swiftly the droid shuffled the deck again and passed out cards. “It is the female Twi'leks turn.” “Hit me.” She answered. The droid pulled a card. “7.” He then turned to Bentre and pulled a card. “5.” Turning again, he faced Tasha'vel. “Hit me.” She replied and let the droid pull. “7” You are now at 14.“ He then turned to Bentre. "Hit me.” Again the droid pulled a card. “9” You are at 14, sir.“