The Observation Deck of the Victory’s Shadow had been cleaned from top to bottom. It smelled almost sterile as Korvyn inspected his new ship. Sure, it had cost a small fortune, but it was worth it. It was his private retreat, where he could find solace and carry out his work for the Empire. But this was not one of those times. Instead, he had invited various members of the clan to join him for drinks and camaraderie. Even a few trusted agents from outside the clan were invited to attend.
The room was laid out with various nerf hide chairs and couches that had been tanned into a dark black. In the middle was a large oval-shaped bar with a serving droid behind the counter. Heavily polished durasteel countertops were almost like mirrors that reflected the red ambient bar lights. the rest of the space was lighted with a soft white lighting scheme. Displays with various artifacts and artwork of Scholae Palatinae’s imperial history were displayed throughout the space, along with some other artifacts that had been collected.
The real attraction on the observation deck, though, was the viewports that circled the entire observation deck. It provided an exterior view no matter where one was sitting. It was almost breathtaking, and Korvyn found himself often distracted just walking around the space. As he waited for his guests to arrive, he slowly sipped on his Corellian Whiskey.
The void fractured as Bloodwake dropped from hyperspace, its obsidian hull reflecting starlight like oil on water. Designed for silence and intimidation, the ship coasted into position without so much as a broadcast ping. A predator’s grace—silent, swift, deliberate.
In the cockpit, Lexiconus Qor sat in his command chair, tentacles coiled and calm, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The vessel’s systems hummed quietly as the auto-docking sequence engaged. Beside him, perched on a modified navigation strut, T3-MX emitted a series of ascending beeps and warbles.
“Yes,” Qor said without looking at the droid. “Transmit the clearance codes. No delays, no theatrics.”
T3-MX whirred in acknowledgment, a little too cheerily. The droid’s dome spun once, emitting a polite burst of binary chatter toward Victory’s Shadow. The yacht responded with permission to dock, its glowing underbelly extending a magnetic umbilical.
As the ships linked, Qor stood, his coat rustling like kelp stirred by a deep current. “You’re coming with me,” he told the droid. “Korvyn’s ego will need cataloguing.”
T3-MX let out a sarcastic warble, his vocabulator rendering a dry, “Acknowledged. Logging: Diplomatic Flattery and Luxurious Excess.”
Together, they moved down the gangway—Qor’s footfalls precise, the droid trundling beside him, scanner-eyes blinking. The threshold of Victory’s Shadow greeted them with warmth and the soft scent of exotic incense, a garish contrast to Bloodwake’s sterile chill.
The yacht’s welcoming committee stood waiting—unarmed, polished, slightly uncomfortable.
Qor swept past them without a word, his voice finally breaking the silence with a single instruction to T3-MX: “Record everything.”
The turbolift sighed open, releasing a quiet hiss of pressure and perfume—expensive, faint, artificial. The first to emerge was T3-MX, his dome swiveling as he scanned the luxurious space, eyes blinking with idle curiosity.
Then came Qor, each step clicking on the immaculate floor like the tap of an instrument on glass. He moved without haste, but with intent—his long coat trailing behind, his presence unmistakable: clinical, dangerous, silent.
The Observation Deck had been cleaned from top to bottom. It smelled almost sterile, a perfect match for the Proconsul’s obsession with order. Dark black nerf-hide couches and chairs were arranged to suggest both wealth and precision. The centerpiece: a large oval-shaped bar gleaming with polished durasteel and glowing red underlights, attended by a quiet serving droid. All around the room, soft white lighting bathed displays of ancient Scholae Palatinae artifacts, curated like pieces of an imperial museum.
But none of it compared to the view. The vast expanse of stars beyond the wraparound viewports stole breath and thought alike. It was a commander’s throne room in the sky.
Korvyn stood near the bar, swirling Corellian Whiskey in a crystal glass. His bearing was effortless yet imperial, his posture precise. The faintest smile crossed his lips as he turned to face his guest. “Lexiconus,” he greeted smoothly, voice as composed as the ship itself. “Your punctuality is noted—and appreciated.”
Qor’s gaze moved through the space—measuring, not admiring. His eyes flicked across the durasteel, the artifacts, the stars. He finally met Korvyn’s eyes. “Sterile,” he said. “You’ve dressed your retreat like an operating theater.”
Korvyn’s smile didn’t falter. “Clean lines, sharp reflections. They help one think. I find that discipline in environment fosters discipline in purpose.” He gestured toward the seating with one hand, the other still cradling his glass. “Join me. We can test that theory together.”
Qor sat without a word, folding into the seat like a blade into a sheath. T3-MX connected silently to a data node nearby, blinking in steady rhythm.
Korvyn poured a second glass of whiskey and offered it forward with a precise gesture. “I appreciate you coming. These informal gatherings… they offer something rare in our world.” He handed over the glass. “Perspective. Conversation without pretense.” Qor took it, held it to the light. “There’s always pretense, Proconsul,” he replied evenly. “But in your case, at least it’s aesthetically consistent.”
Their toast was wordless. A clink of crystal. A glance shared between shadow and empire.
Stars shimmered silently through the viewport as the conversation began—not as allies or enemies, but something far more dangerous: men with vision.
It wasn’t often that Korvyn was sitting with someone he knew little about. It was both intriguing and at the same time almost frightening. For a man whose job it was to know everything about everyone the Quarren beside him was mostly unknown. Korvyn himself had spent years being a shadow in the galaxy. He knew the skill and dedication that life took to create, not to mention the sacrifices.
“The Empire is changing,” Korvyn said, breaking the introspective silence. “Credits have taken the place of brute force. The skill of diplomacy is now as deadly as your blade. Sometimes I miss the old ways. But then again it is nice to be rid of the fallacy of Tarkin’s Doctrines where subjection meant destruction and non humans were held down.”
Calculated in his statement Korvyn hoped for more insight into the man beside him. Korvyn hadn’t always disregarded the Imperial doctrine of human superiority. But why would you alienate potentially powerful allies because they looked different. He knew it was the Revanite in him that felt this way. His time in House Revan had changed Korvyn fundamentally. Infiltrating the Revanites was supposed to bring them down from within. Instead it had brought Korvyn into a better understanding of the galaxy and made him even better at his job. Everyone was a potential ally now, willingly or unwillingly if need be.
Victory’s Shadow; Ellac had only heard second-hand mentions of the Proconsul’s personal yacht, but never had he actually laid eyes on it, and now, never would.
Ellac tightened the cloth over his vacant eyes, tuning his senses to the ambiance of his surroundings: The rhythmic hum of the rising lift as it carried him to the observation deck, the subtle whine of his cybernetics as metal mimicked flesh and bone, the flow of the Force as it pulsed through the members already aboard; The irony of his situation was becoming increasingly more apparent to the young Sith as he reached out to see what his eyes never could, growing stronger, not despite his blindness, but in spite of it. Something within him had grown sharper, more focused. No longer was he a just a flame, burning for the sake of burning; Now, he was burning away the weakness that had kept him from his potential all this time.
Ellac felt the lift began to slow, and with a hiss, the doors slipped open. The room was quiet, cool, controlled. The scent in the air took him back to his former Apprentice’s laboratory, every shelf, page, and tool meticulously stocked and stored with precision. The near-silent rumble of the Shadow’s engines hummed in harmony to the sound clinking glasses and drinks being poured. Ellac didn’t know Korvyn well, but he knew enough to understand that this was his fortress, where every single detail had been designed to control the perception of those welcomed within her walls.
Stepping out from the lift, Ellac’s metallic footfalls rang against the polished floors like the knelling of a bell as he approached a nearby viewport, propping himself against the wall as the engine’s low rumble reminded him of the stars beyond the glass that he would never see again.
Qor was already seated when Korvyn spoke.
He hadn’t announced himself, hadn’t made a sound since arriving—just the quiet clink of a glass now half-emptied of Corellian whiskey, its amber glow catching the low light of the deck like a liquid ember. One tendril coiled lazily around the rim, the others still as stone. He did not look at Korvyn immediately.
He listened.
To the calculated cadence of the man’s voice. To the weight behind each word—each confession dressed in the clothing of philosophy. “The Empire is changing,” Korvyn had said. It was almost enough to make Qor laugh. Almost.
He took a slow sip before finally speaking. “Is that what this is, then? A eulogy for the Empire’s old bones, or a toast to the new skin stretched tight over its face?”
He set the glass down gently—deliberately—so the base of it clicked faintly against the polished table between them.
“You speak as if diplomacy and credits are somehow evolution. As if gilded chains are an improvement over iron ones. Tarkin’s doctrine was grotesque, yes. But at least it was honest.” Qor finally turned toward Korvyn, a single eye locking onto the man, the other still shrouded by shadow. “What you call change, I call… cosmetics. The patient still rots beneath the bandages.”
He paused, letting that sink in, then continued, voice quiet and scalpel-sharp. “You say you miss the old ways. I never had the luxury of nostalgia. My people didn’t get to miss the old Empire. We were dissected by it. Dismembered, studied. Our ability to survive pressure, to adapt to the ocean’s crushing weight, fascinated your war scientists. They wanted to know how we endured. Ironic, isn’t it? That to dominate us, they had to become more like us.”
Qor leaned forward slightly. “I still have the scars. Here.” He gestured to the edge of his neck, where alchemical etchings just barely disappeared beneath his collar.
“The mark of Project Undercurrent. I was thirteen. They said it was for efficiency. To understand aquatic neurology. I learned the other word for that was vivisection.”
He reached again for his drink but didn’t sip it. Not yet.
“So forgive me if I don’t share your optimism. Or your sentimentality. You think the Empire has changed because you changed, Korvyn. Because you found robes with a different symbol and decided that made you wiser. But I know what this place is. What it does.”
He gestured around them—not to the furniture, or the glass, but to the silence. The stillness. The illusion.
“This vessel is not a fortress. It’s an autopsy room. Sterile. Controlled. Engineered for appearances. The kind of place where people like you dress trauma up in strategy and call it evolution.” The air between them tightened, but Qor’s tone remained clinical. Precise.
“You said you used to believe in the Empire’s superiority doctrine. Now you say everyone is a potential ally, willingly or not. So let me ask you: is that a belief, or just a shift in recruitment tactics?” Qor’s voice dropped half an octave. “Because to me, that still sounds like subjugation. You’ve just changed your syntax.”
He finally took another sip of his drink, slow and deliberate, letting the fire of it coil down his throat before setting the glass down again.
“When you infiltrated the Revanites, you learned something, didn’t you? About truth. About self. You learned that some things can’t be changed from within without becoming part of them. But tell me, Korvyn… how much of you is left?”
Qor turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge the quiet hiss of the lift behind them, the soft clang of metal feet against polished floors.
He didn’t need to look.
“Ellac.”
The name left Qor’s mouth like a knife in the dark—neither affectionate nor dismissive. Simply observant.
“You walk with the rhythm of someone who’s starting to hear his own pulse again. That’s good. You’ll need it. Sight is the first lie the galaxy teaches us. You’re starting to unlearn that. But remember: fire that burns for others is still fire. And fire consumes.”
He let the words linger as Ellac settled into the room’s presence. Then, Qor stood.
He didn’t rush it. There was no challenge in the movement—just a kind of coiling inevitability, like a predator rising from depths unseen. He walked slowly toward the viewport where Ellac now stood, one hand still loosely around the whiskey glass.
“You wanted insight, Korvyn,” he said, turning back to face the spymaster. “You spoke as if I were a mystery worth solving. Let me ease that burden.”
He stepped close now, voice lowering. Not threatening. Worse—intimate.
“There is no mystery. I am not an enigma. I am the consequence of what happens when you throw someone into the ocean’s blackest trench and expect them to drown quietly. I didn’t drown. I learned to breathe in that pressure. I bled ink and rebuilt myself. Not to serve your Empire. Not to burn for your cause. But because I refused to be forgotten.”
He leaned in just enough to let Korvyn see the flicker of red in his eye—not rage, but certainty.
“You invited me to speak, Korvyn.”
Qor stepped back, head tilting slightly.
“That was your second mistake.”
And with that, he turned back toward his seat, settled once again into the shadows—tendrils folding, eyes calm, Corellian whiskey waiting.
The silence returned.
But now, it was his.
Turning to the server droid Korvyn ordered a second drink. Something he learned long ago was people will talk more about something they hate than something they love. Of course Lexiconus was partially right. All the Empire had done was made the chains of people golden. Everyone is chained by something, moral, beliefs, governments. Even the most free-spirited in the galaxy have some sort of chain that binds them. It’s a question of if one wants them gilded and loose or Iron and tight.
Of course, there were also things he was wrong about too. Korvyn didn’t lose himself in his time with the Revanites. He found himself there and returned more powerful than he ever would have without it. But these were all semantics from two different sides. However, there was something for him to look into about his clanmate, Project Undercurrent.
Ellac listened as Qor spoke, rising from his seat to seize control of the room. The Quarren seemed familiar with him, enough to know his name even, but Ellac had only felt his presence in the distance during the gala for Hugo’s new appointment.
Korvyn did not stir when Qor turned to face him, allowing the silence to be placed back over the room. No one spoke to break it.
As Qor returned to his seat, Ellac could sense his agitation begin to settle, replaced again with the surgeon’s more typical restraint. “…I refused to be forgotten.” The words echoed in Ellac’s mind, a sentiment he himself had become well aquatinted with. The declaration had closed the distance that Ellac had initially thought set them apart as he remembered an old lesson he had learned from his master: All who gain power are afraid to lose it.
Korvyn and Qor had returned to their drinks as Ellac leaned his back against the wall, folding arm over metal arm as the three men watched, and listened, waiting for the others to move.
Elaine arrived on her own shuttle, the hull of the ship roughly cut through the void of space. Though it was not the prettiest of transports, it got her where she needed to go and that’s what mattered to her. She wasn’t often known for taking an interest in politics however she had been invited by the Proconsul to attend a social gathering, hosting many of her fellow clan members and a few others she had not made the acquaintance of yet.
Elaine was alone on the shuttle. No droids and more importantly, no Callé. It was rare to see her without her Nexu but she thought I’d be better to leave him at her dwelling considering what happened the last time he had accompanied her.
Enough time had passed since the Gala for Hugo’s welcome that she was able to fully process the events that took place. Though was alone, there was no silence. Her mind was never quiet. The screams and cries from her childhood were consistent, echoing within, tirelessly tormenting her.
The shuttle had finally met with the Shadow. Elaine maneuvered the aircraft to the docking station after receiving the clearance to do so from Korvyn’s crew and connected the two ships, creating an airtight connection.
Rising from the cockpit, Elaine made her way to the connecting doorway.
She paused for a moment, brushing her hands against her crimson, floor length dress. The gown rested off her shoulders, portraying a simply yet captivating pattern of flora throughout the length of the fabric. Along the sides of her hips ran two pockets containing her lightsaber and a few other essentials she had brought with her. Though, the items did not obstruct the flow of the fabric.
No matter what takes place tonight, I must retain my composure. I cannot afford to make the same mistake twice or the consequences will not be as merciful, she thought.
She was as ready as she was going to get. With a press of a button, the door swiftly opened, the soft white light reflected off her Heterochromatic eyes, enhancing the already enchanting iris’ that shone like a thousand fireflies in the moonlight.
She stepped into the hallway and proceeded to board the Shadow, the echo of her stilettos radiating off the surrounding walls. Her warm toned hair was in a loose but charming bun with a few simple braids on each side, a few strategically chosen strands of hair were excluded from the updo, framing her face in an exquisite manner.
The doors to the observation deck whooshed open. The subtle change in pressure caused the dark neon pink dress Komilia wore to flutter. She casually straightened out the dress as she strolled into the room. She has recently cut her dirty blonde hair short and it hovered just above her shoulders. She hadn’t expected how cool this would leave her wearing this pencil thin strapped dress.
The dress had ruching fabric that criss-crossed her chest while a woven ‘belt’ separated the top from the lower dress that came just above her knees. Two thin straps hung casually around her biceps in a negative knot.
She shivered as goose bumps appeared on her pale skin while her emerald green eyes, her mother’s eyes, took in the room. She didn’t know why she had been invited. When her father had ruled this Empire she had been one of his loyal guards. Power and prestige flowed from Kamjin through her. However, after her encounter with Sykes…that vampiric devil…and the scandal that followed she had left the Caperion system and had not planned to return.
She had laid low these last few months…year…she had trouble remember after what had happened to her. She had met up with her mother for a while but found it suffocating and struck back out on her own. Afterall, she had been trained as a mercenary and assassin. Why not do what came naturally and that she loved.
Not recognizing anyone she clutched her small black handbag as she made her way to the bar. She chose a seat slightly apart from the other patrons as she settled onto her stool. “Toniray, with some ice cubes,” she asked, her voice betraying her nineteen years.
The bartending droid seemed to be scanning her face trying to determine her age and species and whether it should dispense the drink or not. Komilia scowled at the delay but, thankfully, the droid must have been programmed to ignore the age restrictions to dispense alcohol.
“We do not have Toniray nor any Alderaanian beverages. We have an excellent bottle of Candrilan Blue ‘439 which has a similiar flavor profile,” the droid responded.
“But it’s not green,” Komilia pouted before catching herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Thank you. Yes, a glass of the Chandrilan Blue would be nice….with an ice cube please,” her tone was measured. She had been practicing. A Duchess must always be refined.
The droid whirled through a revolving selection of chilled wines before identifying the correct vintage. Corking the bottle, he offered it to Komilia. Her piercing gaze took in the condition, nicely firm and slightly damp. The smell was neutral but with the barest hints of the floral and fruit bouquet of the wine. She nodded her approval as the droid poured the blue beverage into a wide bowled glass. Komilia noticed it had the etched crest of Clan Scholae Palatinae in it. Clearly this person had some money to invest in the details.
If a droid could judge this one would have as it plopped three ice cubes into the rare vintage. “Thank you,” Komilia said, taking the glass by the stem, swirling it slowly, and then letting it breath for a few moment. While she waited she overheard the nearby discussions at the bar. Naturally, Imperials always talk shop. There’s nothing more interesting to them than themselves. Which, she understand. There’s nothing more interesting than herself.
She had no interest in the details so the words just washed over her and she took in the view. Hmph…at the very least I’ll drink and eat for free tonight, she thought to herself as she took her first sip of wine. It was very good…but it wasn’t green.
The doors of the turbo lift closed as soon as Wenet pushed the button for the observation deck. While the elevator zooms up, the Kushiban does a final check on her outfit. Unlike the last event, she was now actually dressed for the occasion. Wearing a green mermaid dress, the only dress she owns, that compliments her figure. Her fur, white and fluffy, neatly brushed. Ears flat, tail draped on the ground like an accessory, mainly because if she’d lift it, it would expose her behind. Not that it would matter with all her fur, but still it wouldn’t look classy or ladylike.
”Relax Wenet, it’s just a party” She whispers to herself as she nervously fidgets with her dress. Until now she doesn’t know why she is invited, she isn’t even a member of their clan. All she can think of is that during the last party, the one she accidentally crashed, she had made an impression on someone. If it was a good impression or bad one, she doesn’t know, she barely remembers anything to be honest. A fight between some siblings, a nexu, Waza coming to rescue her and then everything became a blur.
The turbo lift begins to slow down and comes to a full stop at the observation deck. The doors slide open, Wenet straightens herself, ”Be positive Wenet, maybe you’ll meet someone” she puts on a confident smile and steps out of the lift and looks around.
Not feeling like socializing with her brother, the Proconsul or her new acquaintance, Qor, Elaine passed by the small group and proceeded to the bar.
Elaine swept her hands underneath her and sat down on a stool a few seats away from Komilia, ensuring she didn’t bunch up her freshly pressed dress.
“Excuse me, I’d like a Corellian Whiskey, on the rocks.” she uttered towards the droid in a soft yet confident demeanor.
The droid servicing the bar scanned Elaine just like it did with the other young women currently seated at the bar. Elaine was unsure what he was scanning for but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Affirmative.” The droid got to work on the drink. Within a few moments, the drink was placed before the Equite.
“Thank you,” Elaine said, lifting the glass to her lips to take a drink.
Smooth. I can see why Korvyn is attracted to it, she thought.
She heard the lift stop and the doors open. Elaine looked out of the corner of her eye to see a small white figure beautifully accentuated by an emerald green dress.
Fluffy. Elaine gave a a simple and respectful bow of her head to the newest addition of the attendants to arrive.
The Punisher shook as it jumped out of hyperspace. Vincent sat steadily in the pilot’s seat, though the ship was piloted by the droid brain DT-A1. Jaz had just stood up to stretch his legs prior to the drop from hyperspace, and the sudden wobble of the ship nearly caused him to lose his balance. Steadying himself, he spoke to the droid brain with sarcasm dripping from his words.
“Another lovely voyage, DT. Spectacular control over the ship. Your every movement was so graceful that I could hardly tell we were in motion.”
A metallic, but firm voice reacted.
“Let me ask you something, buckethead… you want the controls?”
“I don’t believe that I made any such stateme…” Jaz tried to respond, but was interrupted by the droid.
“Then do us all a favor and keep your opinions to yourself. As far as I can tell, we’ve arrived safely.”
Vincent smirked slightly under his helmet. While the droid drove Jaz absolutely crazy, Brujah quite liked its attitude. It reminded him of a younger version of himself, before he had learned a bit of restraint. Vincent could feel the anger building in the Mandalorian and decided to stop the conflict here.
“That will be enough, from both of you. DT, Jaz has a point… the ship you’re about to dock to is one of the prized possessions of our Proconsul, and it will do none of us any good if you so much as put a scratch on it. This isn’t The Shame Corner, and I can’t have them send the bills to Thran… so… if you could… please… dock the ship gently.” the Sith said.
Without another word, The Punisher slowly and easily docked to the Victory’s Shadow.
“How do you like that?” the droid spat. “Smooth as a Hutt’s a…”
“Yes, yes… well done, DT.” Vincent said before the droid could finish his sentence. “Keep the ship ready to depart. After the last couple of adventures we’ve been on, who knows when we’ll need to make a quick escape?”
Looking over, Vincent saw that Jaz was still eyeing the droid’s main controls, holding a hand tightly around the grip of one of his WESTAR-35s. Vincent patted him on the shoulder to get his attention and break the tension.
“Come on, Jaz. The free drinks aren’t in here.”
Without a word, the Mandalorian relaxed his stance and followed Vincent as he headed towards the exit of the ship.
Qor didn’t move to greet them.
Not out of rudeness or arrogance, but because he didn’t need to. While others stepped into the lounge draped in silks, fine cuts, and colors that sang of grace and theatre, Qor sat beside Korvyn cloaked in quiet contrast—his Chief Inquisitor armor polished to a muted gleam, the robes worn with reverence, not ceremony. The obsidian plates caught the light like oil on water, dark and sharp in a sea of softness. He was a monolith among dancers.
Let them notice. Let them wonder. He wasn’t here to charm. He was already exactly where he needed to be—poised and relaxed, one arm resting along the back of his seat, the other gently rotating a low glass of Corellian whiskey. The amber liquid shimmered in the low lighting, untouched. It wasn’t a drink. It was a lens. A mirror. A tool.
The guests had arrived.
Elaine entered first. Crimson draped from her shoulders to the floor like liquid blood, smooth and deliberate. A predator’s stride, calculated yet elegant. Twin sabers, discreetly tucked into the folds of her dress, betrayed the illusion of fragility. Qor’s eyes tracked her—calmly, methodically—filing away the small things: her pacing, the tension in her shoulders, the way she glanced once, only once, at Korvyn.
He considered, briefly, what might happen if one of her sabers mysteriously found its way closer to the woman beside her—Komilia. Would either notice? Would either care? A test of perception? Or personality?
Tempting.
But for now, it remained a thought. A chess move not yet made. Komilia followed in her own flare of arrival, a dark neon pink dress that shimmered like a defiant holosign in the dim lounge. Brash, intentionally so. A declaration of presence. Qor studied the way she carried herself—confident, but layered. She didn’t lean on Elaine, but she didn’t ignore her either. Allies by convenience? Or strangers forming orbit?
The turbolift whispered open. Another stranger. Wenet.
Young, in an emerald mermaid dress that clung like tide to reef. She stepped with a grace she didn’t fully own yet, pausing just slightly too long at the threshold. Qor caught it. Not fear—awareness. She knew the air here was heavy with unspoken terms. That made her interesting.
Korvyn leaned in slightly to exchange words with an aide. Qor didn’t react. He watched.
The Force trembled.
Vincent. Not visible yet—but felt. His presence moved like a cold knife through silk. Not threatening, just capable. Like a weapon you didn’t notice until you bled. Qor adjusted nothing. He merely waited.
Another note in the current. Jaz. Mandalorian. Distant, but near enough that Qor could sense the gravity forming on the edge of the gathering. Beskar and silence. A shadow wrapped in legend. It would not take long for them to step fully into play.
Qor finally turned his head slightly toward Korvyn and murmured, “I seem overdressed.”
Korvyn smirked in that way of his—half amusement, half permission.
Still, Qor remained seated, at ease in the tension. Each new arrival painted a piece of the night’s puzzle, and he was already tracing the outline of what might unfold. No overt moves. No gifts or gestures yet. Just watching. Listening.
What does Komilia want? Who sent Wenet? Why is Elaine already armed?
Not questions for tonight. Not directly. But soon.
His mind split in multiple directions—tendrils through the Force, sifting truth from posture. Were they allies, rivals, pawns, or kings pretending to be pawns? Perhaps some didn’t even know what game they’d walked into.
Qor took a breath through his gills, slow and deep.
Let Korvyn host. Let the others toast, mingle, measure and pose. He would plan.
And when the time came to act, he would already be three moves ahead.
Elaine could feel the eyes on her though she wasn’t sure as to who was watching.
Would it be Korvyn? she pondered and paused, He seems to be enjoying his discussion far too much. Ellac? she paused again, How could I forget… Qor. The surgeon she had met at the gala. He was known for staying in the shadows. Watching from afar.
Her gaze shifted to the young woman next to her for a moment. The brilliant shade of pink created a beautiful effect when paired next to her dirty blonde hair. She looked young but then again, so did Elaine. The young blonde’s face held a familiarity and Elaine couldn’t quite place why.
Elaine fixed her gaze elsewhere, looking out the nearest window. The stars shone like crystals amongst the black abyss.
“What is your name?” Elaine asked but kept her gaze apart from the young women.
Wenet scanns the room as she begins her stride towards the bar. She recognizes a few faces from the last event, although she can’t put any names with them. As she gets closer to the bar she starts to feel several eyes on her and it makes her a tad uncomfortable, mainly because she doesn’t know who invited her and why.
“Who did I talk to? What did I tell them?” She whispers to herself as she begins to slow down. She notices an empty spot at the bar and makes her approach. “I hope it was atleast someone cute” She adds with a giggle and hops onto the barstool. Due to her size, she has to stand on it to get the bartender’s attention.
“can I get one of those?” Wenet asks the Droid behind the bar, pointing at a fancy looking drink another guest is having. “Affirmative” the Droid replies and starts mixing her order.
Wenet glances at the other guests. She can’t help but wonder if maybe she was invited as the butt of a joke. By now she knew very well that these people weren’t Jedi, the majority were Sith. What if, she had overshared, and they knew she is or used to be a member of Odan Urr?
“Your Photon Fizzle” she heard the robotic voice of the bartender say. He places long glass with a green liquid on the bar. “Thanks” Wenet replies and stares at the drink with a furrowed brow. “What in the galaxy?…. ” She mutters, tilting her head as she notices some odd looking orbs in the drink. “This was definitely not what I ordered” Wenet leans over the glass, she can hear it fizz, and It’s smells sweet and fruity.
She hesitates but then shrugs, “What the Kriff can go wrong?” And she takes the glass with both her furry paws and brings it to her mouth. With caution she takes a small sip, “Ooh wow… This is..” she had no words to discribe the strange texture of the drink…
Hugo rubbed his temples as his vessel approached Victory’s Shadow. The weight of management, while not too much to bear, had its annoyances.
“Sir, we are performing docking procedures!” sang an overzealous recruit of the Locktulla, the Besalisk’s surveillance vessel.
Hugo rubbed harder and grumbled from the corners of his gaping maw.
“Very well, Pierce.”
What took seconds felt like minutes as the Colonel’s anticipation and eagerness for some rest and leisure were forefront within his mind. Development of the Acclivis Draco base could wait. Researchers and Scientists were digging deep into the meteor impact, a gift from the Children of Mortis. The crystals were a fascinating new crop that he pondered turning into a profitable business. All revenue, well… most of it, would be beneficial to his House. The rest would be even more beneficial to the Besalisk collector and renowned Sabacc Junkie. Perhaps he could stir up a game on the Shadow he thought to himself as he slipped his personal ‘untampered with’ deck into his pocket.
He peeled himself from the Captain’s chair and made his way through a maze of corridors and bulkheads. The beings he passed offered salutes, some genuine, others for show. In a theater of plotting and a world of mystical power he knew better than to think that everyone was on the ‘up and up’. He could feel the tension and indecisiveness. It clung to some like a foul cologne. Until recently he had never been able to ‘feel’ such things. But the crystals he was in close proximity to seemingly awakened a well of untapped potential within.
Nevertheless, his mission on this day was to mingle.
He heard distant chatter that grew in intensity as he neared the watering hole. The door slid open with an all too familiar hiss and he immediately scanned the room. He never went anywhere without doing so. He took note of the nearest exits, viewport, and turbolifts. As well as any security measures in place. His paranoia wasn’t unfounded however. He had the deathmark in thirteen systems. A weight that only added to his already lofty anxiety.
He saw his peers gathered and it brought a sense of joy to his gruff and untrustworthy heart. These men and women served a greater purpose. An Empire of vagabonds and sinners. Saints and the misunderstood. A cacophony of personalities. Yet outside of the dossiers kept in an office file he knew very little about some of them. Hoping that would change. He made his way to the bar, his HK droid in tow.
“Rancor’s breath, make it a double.” He smirked, pulling a finely rolled cigar from beneath the white shimmersilk cloak draped over his shoulders.
“This is exciting.” Proto stated in his metallic and almost monotone voice.
“Be quiet.” Duk took a deep breath. “I’m trying to focus.”
Duk sat on the floor of the shuttle on his knees with a clearly uncomfortable grimaced look on his face. He wasn’t one for nuanced applications of the Force.
Subtlety was a language he had never bothered to learn. Power and rage came easily but now he reached beyond his instincts, beyond the noise, clawing into the silence for something softer. His brow furrowed, jaw clenched tight as if the effort alone might rip the answer from the void.
He searched for a flicker. A trace. Anything that smelled of Thran—his presence, his power, his stench in the Force. Nothing. He relaxed.
“Good. I don’t sense Thran in attendance. We can proceed.” Duk’s voice seemed relieved to say those words aloud.
“Ah yes! Thran. The wonderful artist who used your face as a canvas. I should like to meet him someday and thank him.” If the MagnaGuard had a mouth it would be smirking.
Duk threw a punch square in the face. Proto took the punch and bounce back. He struck a nerve for sure.
“For that, you will be staying on the shuttle. Droid.” He snarled. “I’m firmly aware the last clan outing ended poorly.”
“For you.” Proto retorted.
“Just shut it. Just let me out so I can be rid of you for a while.”
The shuttle hissed and clanked as it connected with the Victory’s Shadow. The doors opened with a rush of enough air pressure to blow his cloak. Security had stood aside. No one stopped him. Good He was half expecting to be rejected after his last outing.
Duk stepped through the threshold now, cloak trailing, boots echoing on the polished durasteel floor. He spotted an isolated and empty table in the corner. He did not speak or interact with anyone. Duk’s eyes swept across the chamber, his presence pressing outward like a blade unsheathed in still air. He was here to simply observe.
Komilia’s eyes wandered to the girl sitting near her and wondered whom she was speaking to. The girl appears near her age, though probably a bit older, but seemed to be spaced out staring out the window.
The silence hung in the air. After a moment of waiting for a response that never came, Elaine’s gaze returned to the young woman.
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat. “It is considered polite to answer when asked a question.” Her tone was not harsh, It felt more like a gentle nudge.
Komilia startled. “Oh, I don’t know you were speaking to me,” she said, turning to face Elaine. “I’m the Duchess Lap’lamiz of Alderaan,” Komilia said, polite but formal as she extended her hand towards Elaine.
Komilia inwardly grimaced. She had spent to much time with her mom and her accent was starting to show on her A’s. That Corellian A always sounded so…unrefined.
Elaine raised an eyebrow. Her interest was peaked.
Lap’lamiz… of course. I should have recognized the resemblance sooner, she thought.
“Alderaan? It’s rare to meet someone from that system these days. Much less a Duchess.” She paused. “It’s a pleasure to meet you M’lady.” Elaine met Komilia’s hand with her own.
After a moment, Elaine retracted her hand and picked up her glass. She swished the golden liquor, the small block of ice colliding against the glass.
“What is a young woman like yourself doing aboard a ship with a group of people like this? If you don’t me asking that is.” Elaine queried.
The bar aboard the Victory’s Shadow hummed with low conversation and shifting lights, polished chrome and velvet shadows giving the lounge its signature sense of calm intimidation. Officers, agents, and favored guests lingered at clustered tables or leaned on the rail above the observation deck, voices subdued under the weight of the Proconsul’s presence.
Qor sat beside the Proconsul, posture relaxed but eyes sharp beneath the curl of his tendrils. His gaze drifted—not to the stars beyond the glass, but to the two women seated at the bar.
Elaine, dressed in crimson that bled into the lighting, and Komilia, legs crossed and outlined in harsh neon pink, were leaning toward each other in the way only practiced schemers or longtime friends did. He couldn’t hear the words, not from this distance, but he didn’t need to. Their movements were small, casual. Nothing about them said urgent—but everything said intentional.
Qor rose without a word, cradling his glass in one hand. No one stopped him. He moved like a shadow with permission.
He passed behind Elaine first. A gentle turn of his wrist. The dip of a shoulder. His hand brushed the folds of her gown—no pause, no hesitation—and the lightsaber hilt vanished into the loose sleeve of his cloak. In its place, he left a single credit beside the remaining hilt. A fair trade, in some circles.
He was already moving.
Komilia’s bag hung by her side, just beneath the curve of the counter. Black, small, and open. Qor’s approach was seamless—he let the distance close naturally, stepping just near enough that his left hand, half concealed in his sleeve, slipped toward the opening. The hilt fell without sound, nestled between fabric and deception. Neither woman turned. Neither flinched.
Qor kept walking.
He came to a stop near the observation window, glass catching the light of passing stars. He sipped his drink and let the hum of the ship’s engines drown the beat of his pulse.
From here, he could still see the bar in reflection. Still watch. Still wait.
And no one had said a word.
Komilia sighed as she turned to look at the handbag beside her. Reaching in she calmly extracted Elaine’s lightsaber and slid it over to her on the bar. “I believe this is yours. Do you mind watching my drink and bag?” she asked, securing the handbag and placing it on top of her drink.
Standing up from the bar, she casually brushed out her dress’s skirt. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she marched over to the Quarren. She could see him trying to be nonchalant in the reflection of the window.
She tapped the slightly taller man on the shoulder. As soon as he had turned to face her she snatched at his face tentacles taking a fist full in her hand and yanking his head down to her eye-level.
“You are going back to apologize to that lady for messing with her lightsaber,” Komilia demanded, staring unflinching into the cobalt eyes.
Elaine looked at her lightsaber dumbfounded then at Komilia as she walked away.
The Equite returned her lightsaber to her pocket and checked to see if the rest of her belongings were still in place. After she had finished searching her pockets, the young woman placed her hands neatly on her lap, her forearms blocking her pockets from any other thieves.
Qor stiffened as the cold fingers closed around his tentacles, yanking him eye-level with Komilia. The shock of it stopped his breath—and the look in her eyes kept it from returning.
“I—” he began, but the words caught in his throat. His pride screamed at him to resist, but his body remained frozen, the Sith instincts within him curling inward like a shamed beast.
He nodded—once, quick and shallow. “Yes. Of course,” he muttered, voice strained and low. “I… miscalculated.”
He gently extricated himself from her grip, eyes avoiding hers now, and turned with stiff shoulders to find Elaine.
“Good,” Komilia said with a curt nod and, locking her arm around Qor’s, she marched him over to Elaine. “This…gentleman…has something to say to you,” Komilia said, looking up at Qor with a look that said ‘go on now’.
Elaine looked over at the two that approached her, an eyebrow perked in confusion.
Qor’s gaze darted to the pocket where Elaine’s lightsaber now rested, a symbol of his earlier foolishness, a reminder of the situation he had gotten himself into. His heart hammered in his chest as Komilia’s grip on his arm kept him firmly in place. He could feel the weight of the room’s eyes on him—each silent stare a reminder of the humiliation. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out hoarse.
“My actions were… dishonorable,” he muttered, forcing himself to speak, the words feeling like sandpaper in his mouth. “I apologize for interfering with your weapon.” He paused, glancing up at Elaine, her calm demeanor making his discomfort even worse. “It won’t happen again.”
He could feel his pride withering under the weight of the apology, but his focus remained on Elaine, hoping his words would at least carry some semblance of sincerity.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Komilia said, extracting her arm and playfully slapping the Quarren on the chest. “Now, buy us a drink to make up for it.”
She gave the Quarren that same demanding glare.
Not waiting for a response, self-confident in what would happen, she turned back to Elaine. “I’m so sorry, you asked me a question earlier didn’t you? Could you repeat it?”
Before the doors opened, Socorra stood in silence, breath slow and even, eyes half-lidded as her mind reached outward. The Force uncoiled around her.
Awareness skimmed across flickering emotions and surface thoughts. Tension. Vanity. Hunger. Greed. Someone lied about their past. Another hated their uniform. Someone sipped their wine and imagined drowning in it.
Her good eye flicked open, pale and sharp as an arctic storm. The other stayed lost beneath its scar, hidden by the patch.
The doors opened. She stepped forward, watching again. No sign of traps, but it would be too comical to be obvious. The whole yacht was a trap, wrapped in velvet and durasteel. She watched anyway. Observed. Counted exits. Counted security shadows. Counted weapon bulges and pressure points in the Force.
Socorra stepped onto the yacht’s polished deck like she owned a detonator in the room. And maybe she did.
She was dark-skinned and lean, her black hair falling in long waves, unnaturally streaked with white. Not by age, but as if her life force once had been drained so violently, it left a void where death had brushed too close. Attar clung to her skin. Not delicate. Not flirtatious. It announced itself to the ship: charred sacred wood, black resin, cracked spice over scorched stone. A Socorran blend, naturally. She already knew she would be the bantha in the room. Might as well wear it like armor.
The woman didn’t bother smoothing the fabric of her dress, sleek and black and built to lie. More than a dozen sheaths pressed to her ribs, hips, and thighs. The scanners had probably flagged them. Let them.
Each step was deliberate, driven by calculation rather than grace. One hand hovered casually near her side, just above a slit in the dress. The other held an overly large clutch. She’d seen enough of the Empire’s hospitality to know this was a bad idea, but the job was the job, and she hadn’t crawled out of six months of hell to leave empty-handed.
Elaine was still taken aback by the last few moments, still not entirely certain what had happened or how Komilia had shaken Qor so effectively.
“I- Yes. I had simply asked what a young woman like yourself was doing here. Though, it seems that my first impression of you may have been mistaken.” Her voice was soft.
Komilia smiled. “Honestly I think they forgot to disconnect my Scholae Palatinae email and the invite went to the distribution list. Doesn’t bother me when there’s free drinks,” Komilia said, giving Qor a glance and tapping the bar with her finger.
Elaine’s expression softened. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.” She laughed a little.
Qor smirked, leaning in slightly as he met Komilia’s eyes. The glint in her gaze was unmistakable—she knew exactly what she was doing. He couldn’t help but admire that. He wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge, especially when it came wrapped in such an enticing package.
“For the women only,” he said, his voice cool and measured, but there was a subtle amusement there, one that hinted he was already three steps ahead of the conversation. “I trust you’ll make the most of it.”
He let the words linger in the air, feeling the weight of the decision settle into place. He had nothing to prove here. But it was never about proving himself to Komilia—or anyone else. It was about the satisfaction of watching the scene unfold, the undercurrent of tension in the playful banter. The tab was nothing, really. What was a few drinks in the grand scheme of things?
But it was the reaction he wanted. He wanted them to feel the shift in the atmosphere. A gesture like this, casual yet deliberate, always had its way of loosening tongues and breaking down the walls people erected. Of course, they’d think it was a favor. A nice little treat. But in truth, it was just another way for him to gauge who was watching, who was paying attention, and how far he could push before someone asked too many questions.
As his fingers tapped on the bar, the quiet hum of the space around him seemed to settle into the background, his focus narrowing on Komilia’s reaction. He wasn’t worried. He never was. Let them take the bait, or not. Either way, he’d be watching. Always.
It took some time and effort for the Kushiban to finish the Photon Fizzle. And despite its unique texture and the extreme sweetness of the green cocktail, Wenet kinda enjoyed it. But that was probably because of the amount of alcohol that was in it.
”Another?” the Droid asked when he noticed her placing the empty glass back on the bar. Wenet squinted her eyes a little and for a moment she contemplated her answer. Still feeling quite uneasy being there at the party, surrounded by strangers, by sith, made more alcohol tempting. But at the same time, Wenet knows the consequences as until now she can’t remember how she even got invited.
”Maybe later” Wenet replied and at once the droid buzzed off to another customer.
Legs dangling over the edge of her seat, Wenet swiveled around so that she was facing the room. By now several more guests had arrived, some vaguely familiar. Wenet leans forward and places her hands next to her knees at the edge of the barstool. It causes the split of her dress part, revealing her thicc furry thigh. The Kushiban isn’t bothered by it as she already knows that no one in the room would even bat an eye. And even if they’d notice her they’d probably think she’s someone’s pet.
Wenet turnes her gaze to the side; between the guests at the bar she recognizes someone. A Besalisk male, she had definitely seen before.
Komilia looked at the bartender as it poured another glass for both Elaine and Komilia and then back to the Quarren. She knew she should ask for his name but…no, she wasn’t going to do that. She didn’t know if she liked his boldness, how quickly he crumpled under her gaze, or if he was just an annoyance. That might depend upon how many drinks she got out of him.
Not wanting to gets sloshed to quickly she pushed the two drinks over to the nearby Kushiban. “Here you go,” Komilia said politely, thought not caring to notice if Elaine would care losing her second glass of whiskey.
“This is Elaine and I’m Komilia. If we’re going to deal with these old dunderheads we might as well have fun while doing it,” she bubbled, as she removed her hand bag from atop her drink. Clutching the purse in her left hand she picked up her wine goblet and toasted the two ladies.
As Korvyn nurses his second Corellian Whiskey an alert came through in his data pad. It would seem his special guest had arrived. While he didn’t like mixing business with pleasure this was not just any guest. Socorra Tenebrosa Nhar’qual Erinos was one of the best information brokers in the galaxy. If she couldn’t find information on something, it likely didn’t exist. A boon was that she was early for her delivery.
As the turbo lift opened Korvyn remained with his gaze fixated out the viewport for a few more seconds. He didn’t want to appear overly anxious for the information she carried but didn’t want to make her wait. He turned around and stood up from his chair and noticed she had dressed for the occasion. A long black dress framed her well. With practiced precision he made his way towards her.
“Lady Socorra, welcome to the Victory’s Shadow.” He greeted her with a smile and a slight bow. “Shall we grab a drink before discussing business?”
<@141239709291511808>
Still focused on the Besalisk male, Wenet noticed from the corner of her eyes how the woman seated next to her pushed a couple of drinks her way “Here you go” she said.
“Ehm… Thanks” Wenet replied with a furrowed brow, glancing at the two drinks. ‘Whiskey? Two glasses? What’s wrong with it? Is she flirting with me? Nah… Ofcource not she has company.. Wait… Is the drink spiked or something?’ Wenet squints as questions start to buzz through her mind. She doesn’t ask them though.
“Greetings, I’m Wenet” she introduces herself. “Pleasure to meet you” she adds chuckling nervously as she swivles herself back, facing the bar once more. Wenet then took one of drinks with both hands and lifts it for a toast, “Yeah.. Let’s have fun” she said to join the toast before taking a swig.
I don’t recall giving her my name… she’s sharp. Much to be expected from a Lap’lamiz. Elaine quickly dismissed the thought however she kept her guard up. Komilia may seem harmless from a first glance but if she knew Elaine’s name already, how much else does she know and what ulterior motives could she have?
Elaine watched as the small woman that they had just met struggled with the glass. While the glass was the proper size for someone the Elaine or Komilia’s size, Wenet was not your normal sized person.
Elaine looked to the bartending droid. “Could we get a shot glass for our friend?”
The droid turned to the Equite. “Affirmative.” If the droid had any sort of emotional capabilities, it would most likely be annoyed with the trio of ladies.
The droid placed the shot glass in front of the short, furry woman. “Will that be all,” the metallic voice of the droid queried.
“We’ll let you know if we need anything else,” Elaine replied. She turned her attention to her new acquaintance. “Feel free to use that instead. It would be a shame to tarnish such a pristine white and a beautiful dress,” the Equite spoke softly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Wenet.”
Still in his place against the wall, Ellac watched as the room began to breathe with quiet conversation.
‘Mostly quiet,’ Ellac thought, listening as Komilia dragged Qor to the bar where Elaine sat. His sister seemed to be more collected than their last meeting; She even came without her Nexu. ‘Just as well, seeing that her new friend is still at her side.’ Ellac noted the Quarren’s surgical gaze as he studied the women. Something about it made his marred skin crawl, like the feeling you get in the ocean that something is waiting beneath the waves to swallow you whole.
Deciding it best to leave deep waters alone, Ellac turned his senses to the rest of the room: Someone small sat next to the Qor and the girls. Hugo puffed a cigar on the opposite side of the bar watching Korvyn as he stood to greet the newest passenger aboard his flying fortress.
The room pulsed with power and precision as the pieces took their places on the board, and at last it was time to play.
The last presence he felt was in a lone corner, distant from the excitement that had begun to fill the room; Ellac hadn’t seen him since the Empress had taken the throne, and now here he was, clinging to the shadows where his silence would go unnoticed.
Carefully skirting across the edge of the room, Ellac took a seat at the table opposite of Duk. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Duk didn’t move when Ellac sat down. He remained still in his corner, barely hunched forward—hands folded, fingers clasped together.
Only his eyes shifted, lifting with the slow weight of a predator that had already sensed the presence of another. A rival.
A long silence followed. Not tense—just… deliberate. Heavy.
He finally leaned back in his booth. Arms stretched out on either side. The subtle motion of his robes shifting was followed by the soft clink of the saber at his side.
“Can’t do much good at social events when your mouth is cut to shreds.” He replied in a low tone.
Waza approached the bar and sat a few places from Wenet, still new to the area he felt like an interloper, but these people threw a lot of parties. Keeping an eye on her to make sure she is safe he watched her make some new friends. He felt this gathering would be much like the last he crashed to save her no one would really notice the grey Jedi in their midst. The crowd flowed and Waza began to recognize people who interacted previously.
Ordering a drink at the bar just a little too loud so Wenet knew he was there if she wanted to slide the proffered drinks away from her he would take them.
Waza turned to observe the crowd and asses threats, look for friendly faces, and try to observe if any attractive party attendees are single ladies.
Hugo received his drink and chugged it down. His lips curled from its intensity as a dense smoke swirled around his leathery visage. He grumbled something under his breath as he stood.
“EZ, get the ship ready.”
“Sir?”
“Back to work.” He added, pushing himself away from the bar. A final puff remained where he stood as he made his exit. His cape swooshing out behind him as he made haste.
Wenet’s brow goes up when the other lady, Elaine, asks the droid to give her a shot glass.
“Why did I never thought of that?” the Kushiban says jokingly and let’s out a chuckle. Truth was, she never wanted anyone to think she couldn’t handle herself. She’d rather struggle and pretend she’s fine to fit in with the big people than actually ask for help or ask for adjustments to cater to her size.
“Great…thanks” Wenet reslonds when the droid places the shot glass in front of her. “That’s all.. For now” She added and begins to pour the whiskey from the big glass into the shot glass.
Her ears suddenly twitch, Wenet feels a familiar presence close by. She looks around and notices Waza between the other guests at the bar. She smiles and gives him a little wave “hmm, he was also invited.. I Wonder by whom.. Maybe he remembers what happened at the other party” she thinks to herself.
Since she joined the brotherhood Waza had taken her under his wing, he taught her pretty much everything she knew and she was thankful for that. They’d become great friends she considers him family. Wenet is happy to see him, but at the same time she feels a little embarrassed. Being 16, which is considered an adult on Kushibah, she feels like how a teenager would feel when their parent suddenly shows up at a party…. Awkward But she tries her best to act normal and just raises her shot glass of whiskey to salute him..
Then she notices the Besalisk male had suddenly dissappeared. Wenet pouts, thinking “Kark.. I was planning to ask if he knew more about why she was invited.” She then looks over to her new friends, she pauses to think then shrugs and decide to just ask them. “So.. Ehm.. I was wondering. Do either of you perhaps know who invited me?”
“If I had to guess, I would say it would be that gentleman over there,” Elaine replied, pointing subtly towards Korvyn. “Then again, it is always likely that the Empress herself had a hand to play in it. Either way, I’d be careful if I were you. Attention isn’t always the best,” she spoke once more, remembering what had transpired at the last clan gathering. Elaine knew she had gotten off easy despite the afflictions that came to her companion. The Empress had yet to say a word about it but Elaine knew there were consequences to be paid.
The revelry dulled to a background hum as Qor detached himself from the social undercurrent of the gathering. The luxury yacht thrummed beneath his boots — all polished metal, velvet silence, and wealth draped in subtlety. The guests played their parts. The laughter was well-rehearsed. The glances too sharp.
Qor did not belong among them.
He moved without urgency, not skulking — merely absent. A shadow that did not insist on being noticed. He found a quiet chamber near the outer ring of the ship. It wasn’t built for meditation — more a viewing gallery, a place for nobles to gaze upon the stars and admire their own insignificance. He repurposed it instantly. The stars would bear witness, whether they cared to or not.
He lowered himself to the floor, robes settling like folded water, limbs aligning in a symmetry that mirrored his thoughts. The chamber lights dimmed. No voice ordered them to do so — perhaps the ship responded to his presence, or perhaps even the yacht understood that this moment was not meant for light.
He exhaled. And the galaxy exhaled with him.
Control Self was not summoned. It simply was. It had long since stopped being a technique — now it was an instinct. He willed his pulse to slow. His breath to still. Gills narrowed to preserve energy. The ambient temperature — artificial and dry — would have been uncomfortable for most Quarren. For Qor, it became irrelevant. He muted pain. Not just the recent twinge of overexerted tendons or the burn of bruised pride, but the ancient wounds, the ones burned into his nervous system. They dulled, then vanished, filed away by the Force with surgical precision.
Control was not about denial. It was about ownership. Even his hunger — real, gnawing — was folded inward. He would not need to eat tonight. He could go days. Weeks. He had once gone longer.
Then, once perfectly still, Qor reached deeper. He gathered the Force to his skin. A breath in. A whisper of will. Force Cloak.
Light bent. Shadows curled. The shape that had been Qor faded — not into mist, not into blur, but into absence. He vanished completely. Not even the most sensitive scanners would pick up his presence. No heat signature. No sound. No echo. To the yacht, to its guests, and to the galaxy, Qor had ceased to exist. He remained unmoving. Stillness was the key. The slightest shift would unravel the weave.
But this stillness was not idle.
He drifted inward. To memory. To training. To purpose. The Sith had not taught him peace. They had taught him control through agony. He remembered his trials beneath the sea, submerged in freezing brine, starved, blind. His master’s voice — always just out of reach — whispering, “Control your body, or it will betray you. Control your fear, or you will drown.” He had nearly drowned.
But he had learned.
Control Self had saved his life countless times since — in icy tombs, volcanic chambers, poisoned airlocks. But it was more than survival. It was freedom. His body would never again dictate terms to him. His pain would never again speak louder than his will. And yet, the Dark Side pulsed beneath it all — not screaming, but whispering. Not rage, but resolve. The power he commanded was not Jedi serenity, nor reckless fury.
It was discipline sharpened into a blade. He practiced, now, with delicate precision — wrapping Force Cloak faster, tighter, teaching his body to vanish between heartbeats. He wove it into his breath, tied it to muscle tension. One day, it would not even require thought.
And deeper still, beneath the focus and silence, the memory returned.
Komilia. Elaine. The others. Their laughter. Their smug smiles. They had made him apologize. Had demanded repayment. Drinks — forced from his hands like tribute. And he had given it. For now.
But Qor was a surgeon. Surgeons remember the cut.
He would repay them. Not with open retaliation — not with outbursts or declarations — but with something precise. Quiet.
Measured. His vengeance would be as patient as it was inevitable. A slow wound. A whispered undoing.
And when it came, they would never even know it was his hand behind it — until it was already done.
“And your pride bleeding…,” Ellac added, lifting an arm up from under his cloak to rest it on the table.
Duk didn’t move.
“…Not that I should talk.” Ellac raised his hand to gesture at himself, his cybernetic joints whining with the movement. “I’ve been bled dry so many times, I’ve lost count.” Ellac waited for Duk to respond, but no such answer came; Instead he just sat there… Staring…
‘Quick learner,’ Ellac thought, studying the Togruta through the Force. Duk’s silence was intentional, and yet, he still seemed uneasy, like the effort of restraint was painful, agonizing even. He was fighting to control the beast inside, to hide it away where it couldn’t be found, but Ellac could sense it; He knew the creature well.
A quiet shriek of metal on metal broke the silence between them as Ellac scratched a line into the table with his claw. “How did your master take to that little stunt you pulled?”
Reiden watched the yacht fill the viewscreen the Tachi made its approach. It was an impressive sight, he had to admit. He hadn’t known what to expect for this event, so he opted for charcoal colored slacks and a pale blue shirt this time rather than his uniform, though he decided against wearing a tie. His sleeves were rolled up and the top-most button of the shirt was left undone, which was a relief - he found it almost constricting otherwise.
Reiden’s mind was elsewhere, so his attention drifted, only catching snatches of the exchange as the pilot began docking procedures. He knew there would be no issue and that this was merely a formality, so he trusted the pilot to handle things. Admittedly, with his clearance, there wasn’t much he couldn’t do.
The last time he went to a function, things had been a little rough, to say the least - the last two times, actually. He hoped this outing would be different. A voice sounded at the edge of his awareness, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Sir? Did you hear what I said?”
He shook his head and turned to face the pilot. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. What was that, Talina?”
“I said we’ve arrived, sir,” the half-Sephi woman informed him once more. A look of concern briefly flashed behind her green eyes. “Everything okay, Rei?”
“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about, I promise,” he assured her. “Listen, I don’t know how long this will be, but stay close just in case. Sorry I don’t know more.”
He raised a hand in a wave as he turned to make his way to the exit, his Ascendant drone Blitz following close behind. The droid was an invaluable ally and a little added security never hurt. He quickly found the turbolift and made his ascent to the observation deck. A soft chime sounded and he adjusted his sleeves before the doors parted. He was greeted with a well-appointed interior, which came as no surprise. He expected nothing less from Korvyn and it was only fitting for such a ship to have this level of furnishing.
He instructed Blitz to remain in the shadows until called. The droid acknowledged the request and hovered over to the side. He had known who was present before the doors of the turbolift had even opened, feeling their presence within the current of the Force - at least, those he recognized.
But even so, blue eyes scanned the room, noting the people that had gathered and where they were, the positions of the doorways. Although unseen, he knew security would likely be nearby, ready to react at a moment’s notice. Old habits were hard to break, but they were useful and kept him safe, alive. Not that he expected any problems, but still. Then again, that’s why Blitz was there; the droid was more than capable in his own right. And on his hip was his dagger. He was seldom without it if he had a choice, its makeup and meaning too important. He preferred being prepared at any moment if possible. Although he was also a weapon himself.
As he took everything in, there was a sense of familiarity. His gaze followed his senses and he saw a young woman with blonde hair.
Komilia, Kamjin’s daughter, he thought, realization sinking in. The two had never met, but she felt similar to her father. And he had seen her dossier attached to the report following the mission to Crannix Station.
“I did not come out unscathed with my punishment being mostly self inflicted. Though I would say I’ve fared far better than you.” He gestured to the metal hands scratching the table. “I’m sure I will have a higher price to pay should I try again.”
Duk sat up straight and leaned both forearms on the table. “Say have you heard of any powerful artifacts lately? I’m sure someone in your position could use the power boost.” A smirk ran across his face.
Will he take the bait or has he truly become something ‘MORE’? Ellac’s words seemed to have less emotion behind them. Something had shifted in him, but Duk could not figure out what. Could whatever this is be what Kamjin saw in the Conrat brother?
“Artifacts?” Ellac’s scratching paused. “Look around you,” he said, nodding his head toward the display cases that dotted the room. “The Empire has been collecting artifacts for decades, everything from cultural trinkets to holocrons dug up from the ancient rubble of planets like Korriban and Dromund Kaas.”
Leaning back in his chair, Ellac’s scratching resumed. “Seems like you’re more interested in finding them than I am. Why the sudden interest in the legacy of dead men?”
Wenet glanced into the direction that Elaine pointed at. She saw a man, human by the looks of it, one she had seen at the last party. But she couldn’t remember talking to him. “The Empress?” Wenet raised her brow but then tilted her head, thinking about it.
Why would either of them invite her? Just didn’t make sense to her. “Surely everyone knows I don’t really belong here” Wenet decided to open her cards. “I’m not a member or your clan…” She paused and stared at her shot glass, *“Right now I’m not even sure where I belong” * She added with a whisper before bringing her glass to her lips for a swig.
Bzzzz.. Bzzzz her comlink buzzes. Wenet puts the glass down, Bzzzz.. Bzzzz, “I need to take this” She after checking the caller. There’s excitement in her voice, even her big blue eyes sparke with it. She hops off the barstool and walks away from the bar. Finding herself a quiet spot at the windows.
“And?” Wenet speaks into her comlink. “A hello, how are you? would have been nice Wenet” a voice replied. “I know, I know… Just tell me what you know, Zoomy.” The Kushiban answers impatiently. “Payment went through, your package is on its way” Azumi replies and at once Wenet begins to smile. “What the Kriff did you buy, Wenet? This definitely not a loth-cat.” Wenet chuckles nervously, “Ehmmm. You’ll see… How’s Baka doing? Is he behaving?” “Don’t change the subject, you said you’d get a pet, no pet cost that. Much.” “A big pet does.. I really need to go.. Thanks for the call..” Wenet replies. “How big?… WENET?” “oh… They are calling for me, sorry need to go” The Kushiban lies, “Thanks for watching Baka” then she closes the transmission.
Beaming, the Kushiban returns to the bar, she hops back onto her seat and gabs her drink. “Let’s get this party started” and in one swig she empties it.
“Dead men laid the foundation of what we have today,” Duk retorted. “The power of those past still echo through the universe. Can you say the power of recent clans are the same?” He paused.
He aggressively taps his index finger on the table. “I seek power that people fear. REAL power. Not political standing or office. I am a tool. One that will continue to hone his edge until I can break free.”
His blood had begun to boil and took a deep breath to reign himself in. Control yourself. Not yet. Not here.
It was not subtle. He did not add anything else. He waited for Ellac’s response or reaction if any. Duk had said enough for now as he leaned back in the chair away from the table.
Komilia felt an all to familiar numbness in her lips. She was clearly getting drunk. She also, did not care at all. She had made friends! Elaine and Wenet were both laughing and hugging on each other as Komilia slapped the bar top. “Another round of shots!”
The droid looked annoyed. Whether because he was used to a more mature crowd or because these ladies kept ordering citrus shots and the bar back droid was screaming at him in Bocce that he couldn’t keep running down to the stores to replenish the bottles.
“Another round,” the bartender pushed six shot glasses across to Komilia. “You know, you ladies may want to…”
“Shut up, droid,” Komilia snapped. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, her words slurringly slightly as she flipped her hair and almost pranced back over to the girls who had taken over a nearby hightop. Wenet was situated on a hovering chair while Elaine leaned on the table.
Komilia passed out two shots to each of her companions. “What should we drink to?” Komilia asked, raising one of her shots. The girls giggled and Komilia joined in. “Okay…okay,” Komilia said, fighting the giggles. She had a horrible habit that once she started giggling she couldn’t stop. “Alright! I’ve got it…here’s to not looking like that sad sack!” Komilia gestured towards Ellac and drowned her shot.
Elaine looked over at her disfigured brother, her giggling ceasing for a moment at the repulsive sight of him.
She looked back to Komilia. “I’ve got an idea,” she paused, laughing a little, “what if… what if we cause a little mischief?” She said, pointing to her brother and the Togruta accompanying him with a glass of whiskey in hand.
Komilia downed her remaining shot and took a sip of her wine. She knew she was in trouble. The biting taste of alcohol had eased away and the shot poured down her throat smoother than a glass of chilled water.
A voice in the back of her head begged her to stop drinking and to behave. She choose to ignore it.
“What do you have in mind?”
Waza could tell his friend had settled in, but now is when she would need rescuing so he would not wander far away.
Waza watched a quarren male slip between the assembled group and secret himself to one side and concentrate, on,,,, nothing. Then before his eyes Waza watched him disappear. ‘Nice to know someone has perfected that nearly forgotten force power.’ he thought to himself.
Waza decided it was time to dance so he went looking for an area to find music and maybe a partner.
Elaine pondered schemes for a moment.
“Let’s dump our drinks on them,” A sinister and conniving expression with a smirk crept onto her face. “That oughtta’ bode well for Ellac’s appendages.”
By this time Wenet was definitely drunk. The Kushiban’s tiny body simply couldn’t hand the amount of alcohol they were drinking.
“Dump our drinks?” Wenet responds in shock, “That would be a waste” she giggles and downs one of the shots. Her head is spinning, she really should stop drinking. “Who is are they anyways?…” She frows, as she had no idea who the sad sack or the Togruta were. But she does not wait for an answer as she gets distracted. “Ooh hello there” She then suddenly says and begins to smile “he’s kinda cute..” Wenet glances at a man that just happened to walk by their table.
Elaine moved her gaze to the gentleman passing their table.
“I suppose,” she paused, “if you’re into that sort of thing,” she continued. “I haven’t ever really thought about being with anyone.” She took a swig of her whiskey even though her senses were already severely diluted. Elaine gasped and looked at Wenet. “You should totally go talk to himmmm!” The Equite squealed.
Wenet smirks mischievously.
Under normal circumstances, the Kushiban wouldn’t agree to such an idea. Too often had she been turned down or laughed at by those she was attracted to. They would think she was joking, coz no one would take her seriously. Or they would plainly tell her it would never work because of her size and the fact she’s a Kushiban. But this weren’t normal circumstances, Wenet was intoxicated. She felt like she could take over the galaxy.
“Yes” she says and downs the second shot. “I definitely should” she slams the shot glass on the tabel and turns. Then she suddenly dissappears under the tabel, they would hear a thud. “Aahrggg.. Maybe not” they would hear next.
It seems that the Kushiban forgot she was on a hovering chair. She now lay face down on the floor. She gets back up and dusts of her dress.
Waza makes his way to the center of the room and vibes with the music for a few moments. Catching the beat of the song he begins to move. First his arms, then he works his whole body into the song.
Dancing on his own without wondering what his new surroundings are doing or thinking, Waza opens himself to the force and moves to the beat of the music.
Komilia covered her mouth as a fresh wave of giggles hit here. “Oh…my…lord…” she struggled to say as she gasped for air. She took several deep breaths to try and settle herself.
Okay, these two clearly don’t know how to cut loose. She’d, unfortunately, spent enough time in cantina’s across the galaxy to know what usually worked for a bit of good fun. Well…fun for her anyways. Composing herself, she grabbed her handbag and fifth…maybe it was sixth glass of wine. Her heels clicking unsteadily as she walked across to where the two men were.
She tapped Ellac on the shoulder. “Hey, tall dark and gruesome. How about you…” Komilia stopped as she was able to finally take in the face of the Togruta sitting next to him. “Oh hey, Duk! How are you?” Komilia asked, ignoring Ellac.
Duk was, after all, her father’s named apprentice and Komilia had been aware of him for a while though never met beyond the occasional chance meeting in passing. She smiled devilishly. She had a new idea.
“It’s been forever. What with the whole,” she waved her handbag around not wanting to get into the details. “I’m sure you know. I was just having a drink with some friends and wanted to come over to introduce myself to your…well, if it isn’t Ellac? Ellac Conrat, right? I’ve heard of you,” she said, grimacing as she looked over the blistered remains of the man.
“You know,” Komilia continued, turning back to Duk, “my father always said that Ellac was an interesting experiment. He wanted to see if he could mold someone truly in the ways of the Sith lore.” Komilia turned to face Ellac and gave a pouty face. “I’m not sure Daddy did a very good job…or…” she said, tapping her lip with the corner of her handbag. “Or…maybe you just weren’t a good student. Look at Duk,” she said, her hand holding her glass of wine moving up and down the toned Togrutan form. “He’s been Daddy’s apprentice for years and still looks okay.”
“I wonder why that is. What do you boys think?” she asked as she slide into a seat between the two of them.
“Maybe he wasn’t a good teacher,” Ellac said, watching as Komilia stole the seat beside Duk who shifted uncomfortably in his own. “I mean, three failed pupils, and one of them his own flesh and blood? Or did Sykes ask you before he wormed his way into your head?”
Ellac let the words hang as he crossed his heel over his knee. He had only met Komilia once, during the mission on Crannix Station, but once had been more than enough, and she had even been sober then.
“I’m sure your father must’ve been so proud.”
Duk kept his eyes locked on Ellac. Then a slight smirk grew on his face.
“I will say it again for our guests. I… am a tool,” he said in a confident tone. Eyes never leaving Ellac’s… blindfold.
He paused. I guess I’ll take the bait. Why not?!
He turned his head down and to the side. Not enough to directly see her face, but enough to see it through his peripheral vision.
“He did teach me one thing though. He taught me how to survive without him. How to sit and watch while others act rashly. Maybe I that’s why Im still in one piece.” He hesitated and then directed his gaze back to Ellac. “Of course my most recently exchange with the Usurper went to show I have not learned everything.”
His heart started to pound in his chest. He did not like being caught in this reunion of Kamjin’s experiments.
He leaned against the table, hands gripping the edge. His gaze deliberately bounced between the two at the table.
“Did he make us?,” gesturing to himself. “Did he break us?,” tilting his head toward Ellac. “Did he groom us?,” he said without looking at Komilia. “Only one thing matters now. Which one of us will break free and take his place?”
He sat back having finished his rant. he turned to Komilia and locked eyes with her. “So, princess. Are you here to pick a fight or pour wine on a wounded man?” He made a pouty face and turned his head slowly toward Ellac.
If only he still had his eyes, he thought to himself.
Elaine had been trying to compose herself from laughing after Wenet face planted on the floor while Komilia had made her way to socialize with her brother and the brooding Togruta.
After recollecting herself to the best of her ability, she stood up and looked at the Kushiban beside her. “Shall we go join in on the fun?” The young human asked.
Wenet took a moment to stand up and recollect herself, smoothing out her mood fur with her hands then moved on to her dress to brush off any dirt it had collected from her collision with the sleek, black floor.
The Kushiban looked up at Elaine. “Yes… yes I think we shall,” she replied.
The pair of young women made their way to the neighboring table to accompany the Alderaanian Duchess.
Elaine looked at her brother for a moment then dismissed him for the moment to look at Duk. She tucked one arm behind her lower back and the other at equal height in front of her stomach as if she was imitating a waiter.
“So… what kind of glass will you be having tonight, sir?” She sneered.
Reiden’s first thought was to approach the bar. It wasn’t a party without a drink - or at least that’s what his friend would always tell him. He never could argue with that logic, though. Striding over to the bar, he caught the attention of one of the droid bartenders.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” he informed the droid. “Corellian, if you have it.”
It was a popular enough order, but it never hurt to check. The droid promptly got to work and slid the glass across the bar. Reiden picked it up and took a sip, his eyes scanning the room once more.
He saw Korvyn talking with a woman in a sleek black dress, and one he recognized. Once again, he found himself in the same place as Socorra Erinos. She was not somebody he expected to see at this party, but it did intrigue him nonetheless. He had wanted to see Korvyn, but he figured their business was important, so that would have to wait for another time. People in the Empire, and the Brotherhood as well, were always moving. Always playing their various games.
Next he spotted Elaine, noting that she was with Komilia. The two had moved over to a table and a Kushiban was with them. That was a curious development. A bit of movement on his part and he spotted Kamjin’s apprentice. He couldn’t recall officially meeting the Togruta, but he had seen him before. Most notably at Rayne’s coronation party. He cringed slightly at the memory of the man eating glass. Then he noticed Ellac was with him.
He raised an eyebrow at the scene, not sure what to expect. His muscles tensed slightly, just in case.
Well, this could be interesting.
After 20 minutes of dancing alone Waza goes back to the bar and sits alone and orders a pan galatic gargle blaster. Sitting with his memories he waits for the next port of landing so he can exit the ship.
Wenet had absolutely no clue what she was getting herself into. She had only just met the two women but didn’t know who these men were. She might have seen them at the last party but that was about it. Still with confidence in her stride she follows Elaine.
As she walked across the floor she noticed Waza dancing. He was alone. Part of her wanted to go to him, to keep him company. But at the same time she didn’t want to leave the friends she had just met. It had been such a long time she had made friends. “Surely he would understand” she thought to herself as she kept walking after Elaine.
Despite amount of alcohol in her system, the Kushiban did notice how the Komilia and Elaine’s body language shifted as they interacted with the men. There was obvious history that she was wasn’t aware of but that wasn’t going to stop her.
“Greetings” Wenet said with a half drunk flirty smile. As usual no one really noticed her because of size, they were too focused on Elaine and Komilia. So to get their attention she brushes the fluffy tip of her long tail against the Togruta’s chin and repeated herself “Greetings” smiling and fluttering her eyelashes at him. Then she did the same to the other male.
Qor stepped through the archway onto the observation deck, the hush of the yacht’s interior broken only by the faint whir of climate control and the low murmur of distant conversation. Starlines crawled across the vast windows like silent serpents of light, the galaxy stretching endlessly beyond them.
In the heart of the room stood the bar—oval-shaped and gleaming, its heavily polished durasteel counter catching the soft lighting that framed its edges like a halo. The surface reflected every glass, every motion, every idle moment like a pool of liquid silver. A few patrons lingered in conversation or solitude, their voices low and filtered through the ambient hum.
At the far curve of the bar, Reiden Palpatine leaned comfortably on one elbow, his glass of Corellian whisky nestled in his hand, ice chiming gently as he gave it a lazy swirl. The Advisor’s blue eyes flicked toward Qor for a heartbeat, then returned to his drink. Beside him sat Waza, the aging Human with brown hair slicked back neatly, his own drink untouched as he spoke with the calm certainty of someone who’d seen far too much to be easily impressed.
Qor lingered for a moment at the edge of the light, then crossed the floor in deliberate strides. He didn’t need conversation. Not yet. Not with Reiden. Not tonight.
He slid onto one of the empty stools along the unclaimed arc of the bar and nodded at the droid tending the drinks.
“Soft drink,” he said, voice low. “Cold. No ice.”
A glass clinked onto the counter before him, condensation already gathering at its base. He wrapped one hand around it but didn’t drink.
His eyes lifted toward the stars, then dropped to his reflection in the counter—drawn and quiet, like someone waiting for a truth that wouldn’t arrive.
What am I still doing here?
His loyalty to Empress Rayne weighed on him like iron chains dipped in honey. It tasted sweet, looked noble—but it bound him all the same.
Across the bar, Reiden gave a quiet chuckle at something Waza said. Qor didn’t care enough to eavesdrop.
Not tonight.
He took a sip of his drink. The taste was as empty as the future he kept pretending was his choice.
The bubbles in his glass fizzed silently, but Qor hadn’t moved. Around him, conversation drifted on like mist—unimportant, unreal. The Force still clung to his senses like a fading dream, the remnants of his earlier meditation pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
He closed his eyes.
There, in the stillness, he could feel the Dark Side coiling low in his gut. Not screaming. Not demanding. Just… waiting. Like the cold beneath the surface of deep water.
It had answered him earlier, in the quiet of his chamber. Shown him flashes—blood on coral, voices lost in ink, the Empress’s gaze like fire on his back. But it offered no guidance. Only hunger. Only silence.
He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the glass.
The Force shows me everything but truth. Or maybe I just don’t like the truth it gives.
His loyalty to Rayne, to her cause, to the path he’d carved with blade and mind—it had brought him power. Purpose. But now?
Now, the Force only gave him questions.
And no drink could drown them.
Something soft and fluffy brushed against Ellac’s face, wrenching his blind glare away from the others. ‘What in the-‘
Sensing the unfamiliar woman to his side, Ellac turned his head down to face her, reading her presence through the Force. She was much smaller than most people, even among the shorter species of the galaxy, but even more than her size, Ellac could feel her strength and her power with the Force; The fire of her will, the light that shone within her, as well as the shadows that light had begun to cast.
The occasional hiccup that she tried to mask offered another clue to her sudden appearing, and Ellac raised a hairless brow as he 'looked’ up at the two other drunk women, then back down to Wenet. “Looks like you got mixed up with the wrong crowd,” he said to the Kushiban.
Komilia playfully jabbed her index figure into Duk’s chest. “That’s Duchess. Not Princess…ugh, she’s a real bitch of a person. So you either address me as ‘your Grace’, ‘ Duchess Lap'lamiz, Duchess of Juranno, or…” the alcohol was making her eyes glaze. She tried to smile but it came across more like a sneer. Her finger lingered a moment longer than she meant it to so she jabbed Duk several more times to force her mind to work right.
“Or…you can call me another drink!” Komilia forced a laugh. Somewhere inside her the sober version of herself was screaming silently 'you sound maniacal! Don’t do this. Elaine and Wenet are being nice to you and these two aren’t nearly drunk enough. Duk has your number.
“I don’t need to take Daddy’s place and looking at the three of us it’s clear who he broke,” Komilia giggled and gestured towards Ellac. She drowned the remains of her glass. “You can order me another glass,” Komilia mocked giving an order to Elaine who was acting like a waitress and the two girls descended into another fit of giggles.
Duk grabbed the drunk girl’s wrist and removed it from his chest. “Keep your hands to yourself, child.”
Suddenly, seeing as the two girls were a drink away from being completely sloshed he had an idea. *I’ll order that strongest drink and goad her into going past her limit. Let’s see how well ‘Duchess’ holds up after she makes a fool of herself.”
He ignored Ellac and Wennet as he hailed the bartender droid. “Can you get me three orders of Flameout?” He asked.
“Certainly not sir. This is an eloquent establishment. Not some back water watering hole.” The droid retorted.
“Ok, what about five shots of Whyren’s Reserve?”
“Yes sir. I will return momentarily.” The droid left to prepare the drink.
He turned back to Komilia and Elaine. “Drinks are secured,” he paused turned toward Komilia before bowing his head mockingly. “Duchess.”
“Rude” She thought to herself when the Togruta ignored her. It didn’t got any better when the blind man did acknowledge her presence. “The wrong crowd?.. No I think I’m in the right place” she replies with a slight glare. But the Kushiban did understand what he meant, she wasn’t one of them. She didn’t belong there yet someone thought she did, why else would she have been invited.
Wenet decides to just ignore what the blind man said and turns her attention to Komilia and her interaction with the Togruta.
Her brow goes up in surprise when she hears the mention of Duchess. Who are these people? she wonders as she glances between them. They must be important she furrows her brow but remains silent as she keeps trying to figure out what the kriff is going on.
When the Togruta makes three orders of Flameout she releases she’s still being ignored by the karking bastard. It doesn’t bother her, coz despite the alcohol she can tell he has bad intentions.
Komilia’s inner voice screamed at her, ‘Don’t take the bait. Don’t start a fight!’, as she clutched her handbag and the lightsaber and grenade contained within. It would be easy. Her fingers drummed on the handbag. So…easy.
Komilia gave that all to familiar Lap'lamiz smirk. “Let’s make sure my friends get theirs first,” she said, making sure Wenet got her drink first.
“So, crispy,” Komilia turned towards Ellac. “Not to pour salt on a…” the word ‘wound’ caught in her throat given all of Ellac looked like an open wound. “Whatever, does it bother you that my Daddy cares enough about Duk and me not to maim us in teaching a lesson or were you just that bad that most of this you did to yourself?”
Komilia shifted slightly to position herself next to Duk. She wanted Ellac looking at Duk at the same time and Duk to have to appear to side with her if he went to talk.
Late. Not even fashionably late. Just… late.
Kah’ri hesitated outside the door to the Observation Deck. Historically, these sort of events were more than something he enjoyed - he hosted them for the clan. But… right now… Kah’ri grasped for a way to describe the feeling he had regarding the upcoming engagements.
Kah’ri pushed a button and the doors slid open with a fast and subtle whoosh. The word “discontentment” comes to mind. Although that, he thought, probably had more to do with his failing vocabulary than the his feelings about the actual event.
He moved through the room quietly so to avoid… unwanted attention until he arrived at the bar.
A brief glance around gave him a solid lay of the room: two people he didn’t know, four he had no interest in, his master, two dignitaries he’d rather avoid, and a few server droids.
“Something hard and dry,” he said flatly.
He leaned forward over the drink sympathizing with the unmoored look on his reflection’s face. The silence between Kah’ri and the other man sat almost as an unspoken agreement.
“Why are you here?” He asked, half to himself.
He didn’t look over. Didn’t need to. He knew <@284910376007761925> heard it.
Duk’s agitation grew with the advances of Komilia. Cool it! Do you want to end up like Ellac?! Duk glared at Komilia out of the side of his eye. Screw it!
For a moment he gave into the whims.
He reached out with the Force and attempted to grip her fear and instill terror in her. He found her fear and gripped it tight as if to crush a rock in his hand. To his surprise her resolve was not weak.
Duk felt his Force surround hers until suddenly he was repelled. He couldn’t tell if he was unsuccessful or not. What he did know is that she knew it was him and she was not happy. His eyes met hers and this time the daggers in them were aimed at him.
The Corellian whisky lingered in Qor’s throat, its burn almost comforting amidst the distant hum of conversations and laughter that filled the bar. It was a distraction, a way to ground himself against the unease slowly creeping in. But it wasn’t enough. He placed the glass down, the cool durasteel of the bar beneath his palm a familiar anchor.
Beside him, Wenet sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her emerald dress almost glowing in the soft light of the observation deck. She reached out slowly, hesitating for a moment before taking Komilia’s bottle of Whyren’s Reserve. The Kushiban hadn’t said much since the ship left orbit, and her silence now seemed less like peace and more like a waiting storm. A wariness in her eyes. Wenet was processing something, but Qor wasn’t sure what. He didn’t stop her from taking the drink. Her struggle was hers to face.
It was then he felt it. A shift. Subtle, but undeniable.
The Force rippled through him—a cold, slithering thread of tension that crawled down his spine. He glanced toward the source instinctively, eyes narrowing.
Duk.
The Togruta sat too close to Komilia, his posture relaxed, but there was something darker hidden in his proximity. A force applied with too much finesse. The kind that made a chill creep along the edges of your awareness, but not enough to fully recognize it at first. Duk’s voice was soft, warm, and entirely too careful, his words laced with a quiet menace.
Qor’s gaze sharpened. He reached out in the Force, feeling for the thread, the technique Duk was weaving—no, not quite weaving—infiltrating. The mind was a delicate thing, and Duk was trying to break it with the most dangerous tool of all: fear.
Terror.
The kind that seeps in like ink in water, subtle and cold, until it fills the edges of the mind and distorts everything it touches. Duk was trying to plant unease in Komilia, poking and prodding at the edge of her calm with nothing more than the Force.
The kind that seeps in like ink in water, subtle and cold, until it fills the edges of the mind and distorts everything it touches. Duk was trying to plant unease in Komilia, poking and prodding at the edge of her calm with nothing more than the Force.
But Komilia wasn’t blind. She wasn’t helpless.
Qor saw the shift in her eyes before Duk did—her pupils narrowing, her lip curling just enough to betray her realization. She wasn’t as drunk as she let on. And she wasn’t a stranger to manipulation. The moment Duk’s concentration tightened—trying to enforce his will—Komilia gave him a look. Her eyes, sharp and cutting like a blade forged in the depths of their shared history, locked onto him with an intensity that would have stopped most men in their tracks. It was a silent warning. A threat in the unspoken language of those who had survived far worse than mere Force tricks.
Duk’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments. The tension in the air shifted—just enough for Komilia to reclaim her own footing, to push back against the dark thread Duk had tried to sew.
But the Togruta, ever the actor, recovered quickly. His posture didn’t change, and his eyes flicked away from Komilia’s dagger glare with feigned innocence. He chuckled under his breath, clearly trying to mask the brief slip-up.
Qor let his presence in the Force stretch outward, just enough to make Duk aware of his watchful eye, though he said nothing. There was no need to escalate things just yet. The Togruta had crossed a line, but only slightly. And Komilia had noticed.
With a deliberate, slow breath, she shifted her form, giving Duk a final glance that could’ve shattered stone.
Qor’s gaze followed her, then returned to Duk. The Togruta wasn’t entirely comfortable, but he was hiding it well.
Qor turned back toward Wenet, who hadn’t reacted to the drama unfolding nearby. She sipped the Whyren’s Reserve again, her small frame curled up in the chair as if the world outside no longer reached her.
She wasn’t looking at him, but her body language was clearer than words. A small shift in her posture told him she was aware of the dynamics, aware that the storm was brewing just beneath the surface.
“You holding up?” Qor asked, his voice quiet, as if the moment called for a gentler question.
Wenet looked up at him. The pale green of her fur rippled with faint exhaustion, but her eyes were clearer now. She blinked once, then nodded slowly, her expression softening as she set the bottle down beside her.
“I want to feel braver,” she murmured.
Qor nodded, understanding. The fear was always there. Everyone carried it in different ways, but it never left.
He didn’t press her further, though. He knew her well enough to let the silence rest for now.
The bar was quiet again, save for the low hum of the ship in orbit and the distant murmurs from the others. Wenet didn’t reach for the bottle again, but her thoughts were far from settled. Neither were Qor’s. He couldn’t let his guard down—not with Duk on board, not with Komilia still fighting her way through a sea of old memories and new wounds.
The room felt heavy with the weight of things unsaid, but for now, Qor kept his gaze fixed on Wenet. She might not be ready to talk, but at least she wasn’t alone.
And that, for now, was enough.
Hearing the question float through the air, Waza pondered for a moment. He was here because his friend needed him, he was here because sometimes you lose a tether in life and drift freely.
But why was he really here?
“Ya know stranger, that question can hold deep meaning and reflection at times. I have a few goals for being here and all of them are tied into my good friend over there.” Waza said gesturing to the striking white furred Kushiban.
“Ya know she is cute, but it seems I’d have no luck as she has told me it could never work. So I took her under my wing; against the wishes of our last clan. She wanted instruction and her last master left her twisting in the wind. Inevitably I did the worst thing a mentor could do, I saw her as a beautiful woman and not my student. I had to tuck that away and guide her in the force and some combat skills.”
“Why am I here? because she needed me more than anyone else needs me. We both left Odan-Urr for reasons. I’m guessing some one in Leadership in this clan sees potential in us.”
“So why are you here?” Waza said looking up and the man a seat away.
Elaine’s face was flushed across her cheeks with a soft pink hue and a fuzzy feeling ran through her body due to the alcohol.
She noticed the shift between Komilia and Duk. The young Elder’s eyes had become more intentionally pointed than before. Something had changed and Elaine wanted to know what. With a bit more effort than it would usually take, she briefly focused her attentions into the Force, searching through the interconnection between her associates.
After a moment, she realized what Duk had tried to inflict upon her new friend. “That…” she stumbled back a few steps then regained her balance and pointed at Duk while having a loose grip on her drink, her finger a few inches away from his face, “wasn’t very nice, Scar-face,” she finished with a cold tone in her voice as an upset expression crept onto her face, her brows furrowing.
She focused her energy into the Force yet again only this time she had a different agenda. Elaine had snuck into the corners of Duk’s mind, attempting to manipulate his very being to do her will.
Not long after she wormed her way in, the Togruta sensed the intrusion. Duk turned his attention away from the Duchess and hardened his expression towards Elaine as he stared into her duel colored eyes maliciously.
Elaine worked to retain her grasp on him but his resolve was unwavering. She lost her control over him.
Kah’ri’s eyes were already wide and blatantly staring when the newcomer looked at him. Disbelief was plastered on his face without warning and held for much longer that Kah’ri would’ve liked. Rumors had already started about Jedi joining their ranks, but for them to be true? His eyes flicked between this man and the Kushiban, then at the usual ruckus by those three. Were they that unaware or just stupid?
Kah’ri’s mind was in a flurry of questions. Rayne. Odan-Urr. Korvyn. The Summit. Odan-Urr. Seraph. The Monolith. ODAN-URR?! They’re Jedi?!
He shook his head to disrupt that flow of thought and drained his glass, attempting to ground himself with the burning sensation of alcohol. Gently setting the glass down, Kah’ri took a moment to compose himself.
“Because I was asked to be,” he said with a bit more charm than he’d shown since entering the Observation Deck. It was a half-truth. He was requested to attend, but he had his own motives for appeasing the Proconsul. Kah’ri’s sights were… elsewhere, but he wouldn’t let his mind open to those thoughts - Not to the man in front of him.
“So…”
He let the word hang, the silence filling the space between them - a question almost asked, but not quite. He traced the rim of the glass with his finger for a moment until the droid offered to refill.
“I guess we’re both someplace we weren’t expecting..”
Komilia was smirking as she shifted closer to Duk, quite pleased with herself and her baiting. She had promised the girls a fun night and she aimed to deliver on it. Duk turned to look at her and a shiver went down her spine. That inner voice cried for a moment.
‘You’re a failure just Ellac. Your Daddy doesn’t love you that’s why he exiled you. No one here likes you and you’re just another spoiled brat in a galaxy full of spoiled brats.’
By the time the shiver had run her spine she recognized this for what it was. Her eyes locked with Duk’s and she seethed with rage. How dare the apprentice think he could mess with her. HER! The duchess of Alderaan. The Emperor’s daughter. The Justicar’s favorite child!
Two could play at this game. Komilia let the mystical energies of the Force flow through her towards the apprentice. “You dare,” her voice was barely a whisper. Duk could hear due to their closeness but to the rest of the bar they’d only glimpse her lips barely moving.
Komilia watched as Duk’s pupils widened. She sent waves of visions of who her father really is. Horrific visions of Kamjin torturing Ellac. The screams as Ellac’s skin blistered and popped. The torment as Ellac’s limbs were sliced from his body.
“You should know better than to mess with a Lap'lamiz,” Komilia’s words chilled like a Hoth night. The visions shifted and it was Duk who was laying broken before the Justicar. Lekku shredded. Bones broken. Duk’s pleads for mercy cut off as bolts of electricity leapt from his Master’s fingers and arced across his body.
Komilia could see him spasm as the images took root in his mind. His nightmares would be tormented for years to come with the visions he saw. Duk’s vision shifted again. He was enslaved again but this time to Komilia. Chained, his skin flayed raw, Komilia laughing mirthlessly as she yanked the chain choking him.
“Sit down and learn your place, apprentice,” Komilia said, kicking out the stool for the Togruta.
Uneasy, Wenet sits there, watching the scene unfold between Komilia and the Togruta male. In her hand the drink she had reluctantly accepted. Although none of her new “friends” pay much attention to young Kushiban, she still feels she has to keep up appearances.
Wenet glances around the room, she notices Waza at bar talking to someone. Then all of a sudden her senses are triggered. Although she doesn’t fully understand what going on, she can feel a threat forming. Instinctively her fur darkens and puffs up, her pupils dilate, her ears flatten and little claws extend. She is ready to to fight her way out of this situation if she has to. But the threat she felt suddenly fades but not entirely, It’s stillthere brewing beneath the surface.
More alert of her surroundings, Wenet can feel the interest of the Quarren male next to her. Slowly she turns her head letting her gaze meets his. “What?” She responds as she stares back at him and flutters her eyelashes. Wenet wonders why he’s looking at her like that. “Why don’t you take a picture, it will last longer” she then added with a nervous giggle.
Duk gasped as he stood defiantly. For now he chose not to sit.
His muscle ached and quivered. His jaw clenched and unclenched in fast succession. He let out a low growl. One caught between fear and anger. Reminiscent of a cornered wild dog. In a fleeting moment he thought about retaliating. He let the moment pass. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t.
Every image, sound, and feeling of pain in the visions still felt real. The reeling of his body was made visible by the involuntary twitching of his lekku. The worst feeling of all was the chain around his neck. Invisible to the room, but tangible to him.
Duk’s eyes never left Komilia’s. Locked into hers full of defiance and shame. The weight of the humiliation of being seen that broken almost made his knees buckle. He never looked away as he sat down. His hands never made it to the table. He kept them firmly gripped in his lap fighting the unbearable desire to retaliate.
“I’ll play along for now,” he said, each word dripping with distain . He had one final thing to say to his master’s daughter. “Do not mistake my survival for loyalty. I’ve tasted my own blood. I’ve kneeled before monsters and lords stronger than you before. Long enough to learn where to drive the knife.”
“Don’t fool yourself. You were never a player,” Komilia sneered as she walked over to Elaine. “Maybe we should find somewhere else to drink. These two are boring me.”
Elaine smirked and gave Wenet a wave along to join them as she interlocked her arm with Komilia’s and turned her back to the two males. She looked over her shoulder at her brother in disgust.
“Oh and one more thing…” she paused, “You might consider covering that mutilated thing you call a face. It’s repulsive.” A sneer made its way onto Elaine’s face as she turned her head front-facing and proceeded to go to find some other entertainment with Komilia on her arm and Wenet following right alongside them.
Waza could feel the confusion ripple through the force, he had no intention of reading this mans mind but he did broadcast that rather loudly.
“Judging by the flash you let slip through your wall a Jedi was not expected? I can tell you my 50 year journey through the light and dark side of the force Ive learned the Force will lead you to places and teach you lessons you need to understand for true power and knowledge.” Waza took a sip of his drink.
“Much like drinking intoxicants and alcohol, you can purge the symptoms quickly but you don’t learn the lessons of being drunk.”
Waza looked the man in the face, “I’m Waza Sunrider, Former Obilisk battlelord, Brother hood member of the etiquette ranks. I don’t normally make a full introduction like that but I’m the new guy here, looking for a new home.”
Waza took another sip. The force rolled with the battle of wills from across the room. Feeling the anger and fear, he looked to his friend ready to fight a room full of Sith to keep her safe. He was relieved to see she was only at the table and not in danger. An ego contest amongst emotionally controlled beings usually had collateral damage that could span star systems he would have to be on his guard.
kriff… Kah’ri muttered in his mind as if to hide the thought from Waza. He’d let himself slip. He knew better than to bring outside problems to a clan gathering, even if he didn’t want to be there.
Kah’ri was quiet for as the man spoke. Studying his words, mannerisms, and the general impression he gave. “True power and knowledge..” he repeated as the Waza turned toward the others. Kah’ri sensed a power under restraint in the man. But no fear. The feeling itself was… strange… but intriguing… Kah’ri had never met a Jedi, but they definitely operated differently from the Sith.
With the man still looking away, Kah’ri threw back his drink and shifted his posture. By the time his glass touched back down on the bar, his demeanor had changed to show the dignified grace usually worn by the Imperial man.
“Kah’ri Marru, of Onderon and Clan Scholae Palatinae. Former Quaestor of House Acclivis Draco and fellow equite. And the pleasure,” he said. “Is all mine.”
Qor’s expression doesn’t shift at Wenet’s jab, but the twitch of one tendril betrays amusement. His amber eyes narrow slightly—not in offense, but in quiet study. “You assume too much,” he rumbles in his low, rasping voice. “A picture would hardly capture the way your fur bristles when danger dances past.”
He tilts his head, as if listening to something only he can hear. Silence coils between them. Beneath the hum of the deck’s new power core and the occasional clink of glassware, the air seems thick, charged. Something else has entered the space—unseen, but not unnoticed.
Then, with a subtle shift of his shoulders, the tension around him fades like smoke curling from an extinguished flame. “But you’re right to be on edge. The air shifted for a reason.”
Qor’s gaze flicks toward the group by the booth—Elaine, Duk, and their little conclave of half-measured grins and tight shoulders. Easy targets for observation, harder to read. Korvyn especially. Still waters. Deep shadows.
“You don’t belong on the edge of the room,” he adds after a beat, voice dropping lower, almost as if sharing a secret. “Not when you’re smart enough to spot the storm before it hits.”
He rises slowly, the movement fluid, his silhouette briefly blocking the nearest lantern’s pale glow. With a casual motion that invites but doesn’t demand, he gestures toward Korvyn’s table. “Come. Let’s remind them that small doesn’t mean silent.”
He doesn’t look to see if she follows—just starts walking, tendrils swaying behind him with quiet confidence.
As they move, Qor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly at his side, subtle as a breath. A ripple of Force-laced illusion flows outward—targeted, precise. To the rest of the room, Wenet is simply Wenet: sharp-eyed, composed, shadowed in cantina light. But to Korvyn— —to Korvyn, she glows faintly, her outline edged in soft golden warmth, like the sun slipping behind clouds. Her fur catches the lantern-light just right, gleaming as if burnished.
And her scent… her perfume, already fine and heady, intensifies—now carrying notes from memory, from desire, uniquely attuned to Korvyn’s senses. Not overpowering. Just enough to distract. Just enough to pull his attention inward.
The room takes notice. Subtly, but undeniably. Conversations dip in volume. A glance here, a half-turn there. Even the bartender pauses his wiping of the counter to watch the pair cut across the deck floor.
As they near the table, Korvyn lifts his gaze. A flicker of recognition dances across his features—then confusion, intrigue. He straightens, trying not to show the effect. Waza leans back in his seat with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
Qor stops just short of the table, placing a hand on the back of an empty chair. “Korvyn,” he says evenly, “this is Wenet.”
Waza made a slight bow to his peer out of respect, “so many memories dance in this old man’s head.” He started speaking feeling like someone’s grandparent suddenly. “My first home was Clan Setal Keto, Aedile of my house. Before I fell out of favor with the Con.” Drifting away in thought he was brought back by the presence being broadcast of Wenet. She truly looked radiant in this light. Seeing her with Quarren he had watched disappear earlier he smiled at her concern in his eyes he watched like a vornskr guard hound.
Elaine and Komilia walked together, arms linked together throughout the room. They passed by the vicinity that Korvyn and Soccora when they were newly joined by Wenet and Qor.
Elaine reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a comlink, flicking it to Wenet. It flew through the air as Wenet turned her gaze, reached up and caught it.
“We’ll be in touch,” Elaine said as she and the young Lap’lamiz walked away to stroll the rest of the ship, potentially causing more mayhem along the way.
Komilia fumed as she and Elaine left the private party room. How dare that nosy little apprentice try to mess with her mind. The absolute nerve. But, she thought to herself, she hadn’t overreacted. No, that had been a perfectly reasonable reaction to that pathetic attempt. She made a note to talk to her father about his apprentice when she next saw him.
In the mean time…the night had to be saved. “Elaine, I have an idea. Follow me!” Komilia said, grabbing Elaine’s hand and running off down the cooridor. Komilia didn’t look back. She knew what would liven up this party.
Komilia glanced at the passing signage. A left…maybe…no, a right. Poor Elaine was whipped from side to side as Komilia changed directions. “Here!” Komilia said, coming to a halt. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a nail file and began prying off a control panel.
“Tell Wenet to ignore what she hears,” Komilia said as the panel came free with a satisfying pop before clattering to the ground. Komilia pulled out an emergency transmitter and began messing with the dials. Komilia could see the puzzled look in Elaine’s eyes. She just smirked, pointed towards the paired comlink and mouthed ‘tell Wenet’.
The emergency transmitter beeped and then echoed through the ship’s intercoms. Komilia clamped down to keep herself from laughing. It had worked!
She cleared her through and putting on her best masculine voice, spoke. “Attention. Attention. We have received confirmation that the Grand Master, Deputy Grand Master, and Justicar will be arriving in ten minutes. Prepare for immediate arrival!”
Komilia let the transmitter dangle. “Come on, let’s go find some armor and really mess with them!”
Elaine giggled her way through directing Wenet to dismiss the sounds as Komilia fiddled with the security lock.
As soon as they got the door open, both girls ‘sneakily’ went inside, definitely not making a ruckus.
As soon as she saw the white figures of armor, Elaine knew just what Komilia was thinking and she was all for it.
Elaine gave Komilia a side glance with a smirk. “So which one do you want?” She snickered.
“That one!” Komilia exclaimed in a volume just louder than a whisper as she pointed at a pristine white, glimmering stormtrooper uniform.
“Then I’ll take this one,” Elaine replied as she grabbed a suit of armor with smears of dark red and black scorch marks that tarnished the white.
The girls took a moment to change into their respective uniforms, each in different corners of the room within changing rooms.
After their clothes were switched, they stepped out into the locker room once again and took a look at each other.
Elaine snickered as she suppressed a laugh while looking at Komilia in a uniform that was ever so slightly too big for her.
“Careful, your father might mistake you for another one of his children,” she mused.
Komilia busted out into another fit of giggles and she tucked her grenade and lightsaber onto the belt. Thankfully not an uncommon look given the Brotherhood’s assortment of individuals.
“They have got to be freaking out right now. Let’s give them some time to stew,” Komilia said giggling again.
“What are we doing Wenet?” The Kushiban whispers to herself as she walks across the floor. She’s does not know why she decided to follow the Quarren, she’s not even sure if it was her own decision. Yeah, she might have had a few to many, but she is still able to think for herself… right? Wenet isn’t so sure about that.
As they approach the table she starts to feel a little anxious. Elaine had pointed the man at the table out when Wenet asked her if she knew who might have invited her. At the same time her friend had warned her; ‘I’d be careful if I were you, Attention isn’t always the best’ were her exact words. Attention was certainly what she has now. She wasn’t aware of the illusion the Quarren was casting, but she could see the man, Korvyn’s, reaction to it.
Wenet stopps next to the Quarren, and awkwardly smiles at the man sitting at the table. “Greetings” She says softly, with a slight tremble in her voice.
At that point she sees her new friends walking past. As she turned her gaze she saw something flying through the air towards her. Wenet reaches up and grabs it, it’s a comlink. She looks at Elaine and smiles in acknowledgement before turning towards the table again. As she waits for Korvyn’s response she wonders what the Quarren is planning.
<@583854106599489557> <@204034522033946625>
Silence followed the announcement, but inside Qor, a surge of energy bloomed like fire in his veins. The Triumvirate.
The Grand Master, the Deputy, the Justicar—the pinnacle of the Brotherhood’s power. Soon, their boots would echo in these halls. Soon, their eyes might fall on him.
His fingers flexed at his sides. The thrum of the engines, the hushed voices around him, even Wenet’s tiny fidgeting beside him—none of it registered. Not really. His gaze had already fixed on the sealed doors, as if sheer will alone might pull them open and reveal his destiny. He was not afraid. No. What he felt was far more dangerous: desire.
Desire to be seen. To be chosen. To be used.
He adjusted his robes with slow, deliberate care, smoothing the fabric down his chest and shoulders. There could be no imperfection—not today. Not when the stars themselves seemed to shift in alignment above him.
But anticipation coiled too tightly in his chest. He needed to loosen it.
With a wordless motion, Qor turned and made his way to the yacht’s sleek, polished bar. The bartender—a wide-eyed servant droid with too much personality—greeted him with a chirp. Qor raised a hand sharply to silence it.
“One drink,” he growled. “Strong. Something that bites.” The glass was in his hand moments later—clear, sharp-smelling, vicious. He downed it in one long pull, the burn searing down his throat like fire through ice. He exhaled slowly, savoring the sensation, letting it ground him.
Then, with a subtle tug at his collar, he moved off—this time toward the lavatory.
Inside, under the cool white lights and mirrored surfaces, he washed his hands and face with practiced control. The water dripped from his chin, leaving dark rivulets down his neck. He stared into the mirror, studying his reflection. The sharp lines. The intensity in his eyes. The hunger that refused to dim.
“This is the beginning,” he murmured to himself, low and steady. “You will rise.”
He smoothed his tentacles back, fixed his collar, and stepped out. When the Triumvirate arrived, Qor would be ready—not as a servant, but as a storm waiting to be unleashed.
“Ah Wenet, I am glad you took me up on the invitation. I always like to meet those new to our clan.” He responded to his new guest. “Sorry it has taken me so long to make a formal introduction. Business never ends it seems. Are you enjoying yourself?”
The moment the Quarren walks of, Wenet starts to feel panic. Eyes wide she glances at him as he struts off. From the inside she’s screaming no no no.. where the Kriff are you going. Don’t just leave me! But Wenet doesn’t say anything aloud.
She can hear the man in front of her talking. “I always like to meet those new to our clan” he says. Again Wenet’s eyes widen, Wait.. What? New to our clan? she thinks and starts to shake her head. .
“I’m sorry sir.. I.. I… Ithink there has been a misunderstanding” The Kushiban resplies to Korvyn. “I’m not part of this clan. I’m a member of Odan Urr” she adds with uncertainty in her voice. She hadn’t exactly been to the Temple recently. I fact it had been months. After what happened on Quermia she simply drifted off. She wasn’t sure if she still was a member of Odan Urr but she was sure she never joined Scholea Palatinea… Or did she? Maybe I did? I can’t remember what happened during the last party she started to doubt herself.
“Look. Sir. I.. I.. I don’t know how I ended up here. That guy” she looks around to see if that shifty Quarren was still around “The one that was just here. He seems to know more… I..” nervously Wenet rambles on, worried that she’s in trouble now.
Korvyn studied the diminutive Kushiban infront of him. She was obviously nervous as she stuttered in her speech slightly. Two diaganol scars crossed her face. It was regrettably the first up close interaction he had had with her. Though it didn’t mean he didn’t know who she was. It was his job to know who people were after all and after the appearance at the Monolith he had set about learning what he could about her.
“Ahh, well it seems I am the one who is misunderstanding. But let’s see, Wenet C. Bannog, Born on Kushibah, smuggler by trade with an affinity for the force. Impulsive at times and a penchant for finding trouble. A member of Odan Urr, that is a shame, I am always in need of someone that can… circumvent local laws.” He gave an ever so brief rundown of what he knew so far. He had decided to leave Quermia incident alone.
“However, no need to be nervous you are an invited guest here with some of the best,” Korvyn heard the announcement that the Grandmaster, Deputy Grandmaster, and Justicar were arriving. “… and the worst members the clan has to offer.”
Hopefully, he had alieviated Wenet’s fears. Fear was a motivator but not one Korvyn liked to use, particularly on a potential ally.
“Perhaps we are more alike than you think.” Korvyn replied. He knew the stigma all too well. The Empire is evil, all its force users were sith hell bent on destroying the galaxy for their own power. There were some members of Scholae Palatinae like that for sure. Some were in the room with the pair, Korvyn however was not one of them. “Have a seat and we can discuss it.”
The pair each took a seat in the more comfortable chairs away from the bar. A serving droid brough a pitcher of water and ice along with a couple of glasses. It dutifully sat them in front of the pair and turned to leave. Korvyn reached out and poured himself a glass and drank from it first. It was an obvious sign to Wenet that water was not poisoned.
“If I may just speak bluntly, I am not a Sith. I am no Jedi either. I follow a more practical approach on using the force. Now that that’s out of the way. A business proposal, you are a smuggler by trade. I at times need things retrieved or delivered that I would rather stay off the radar.” Korvyn pulled out a holoprojector. It flickered to life showing a forested tract of land. It boarded a large lake and had rolling hills. “This land is in the Arbor forest. Secluded enough and has a clearing large enough for a ship to land in. Work for me, not the empire and this will be your payment along with credits as needed.”
Wenet’s jaw dropped when Korvyn started to sum up details on her identity. How does he know all of this? Am I being investigated? Am I in danger? Several questions popped up in her mind as she listened to the man speak.
She let out a chuckle “Nervous.. Me?” she denied it although it was pretty obvious. “I’m don’t understand. I’m not like you” she said pointing out the fact she wasn’t a Sith. She wasn’t a Jedi either but still, she wasn’t like them. As a matter of fact she barely had any proper training, part from what Waza had taught her. Her ears flattened “Odan Urr was simply the first clan I heard about..” she explained. She didn’t know about the Brotherhood as a whole until she was recruited in Odan Urr.
Duk’s eye widen. Kamjin is coming here?! WITH THE REST TRIUMVIRATE?! SHIT….. His finger beings to incessantly tap the table. I picked the wrong time to assert myself among the rest of my master’s ‘experiments’.
He looked over across the table at Ellac who had shifted in his seat slightly at the sound of the announcement. “Seems Kamjin is coming to check on us.” Duk stated. Ellac said nothing and sat as still as a statue.
Does he not care or is he playing tough? Duk’s head was reeling by the reciprocated terror instilled by Komilia. Komilia. Where did she go? He looked around frantically. Elaine was missing too. Panic set in. He promptly rose from the table. “Sitting there in silence won’t save you,” he said to Ellac and headed toward the bar.
“Two shots of Corellian whiskey,” he demanded to the bar droid. The droid said nothing as he did as ordered. His finger began tapping again while he waited for the shots. I should leave. The droid sat the two shots in-front of Duk. He immediately shoots one. No! That would look worse. He drinks the second one. I’ll stand my ground. I won’t be bullied by some childish brat. His mind was clear again, but his body was not aligned. He noticed his hand quivering as he sat the last shot glass down.
Kah’ri listened to the man talk, watching for information he could use when the distinct tone from the intercom sounded. The soft smile he wore fell to a cold and contemplative look as the announcement came through. Why now? Why here? It made no sense for them to come here - well, maybe the Justicar, but not the Grand Master and Deputy?
Kah’ri stiffened and restored his smile, though softer than before.
“They’re not here for you, are they?” Kah’ri jibbed to the other man.
Qor braced himself on the curved sink, his breath shallow and unsteady. The mirrored panel above him flickered with the ship’s dim ambient light, reflecting back a face he barely recognized — pale, damp with sweat, tendrils twitching in agitation. His mind reeled with the words that had reached the speakers:
The Grand Master is onboard. The Deputy, too. And the Justicar.
He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. Not anymore. But his body didn’t believe him.
A sharp tremor started in his webbed fingers and climbed all the way to his shoulders. He tried to focus, to center himself with the precision of a surgeon and the discipline of a Sith Battlelord. He muttered the mantra under his breath: Steel the mind. Seal the chambers. Let no light in.
The words didn’t help. Instead, the past clawed its way into the present.
The light was surgical white. Cold. Too clean. A needle sunk deep beneath his ocular cavity. Their voices calm. Always calm. “Tell us what the Academy never taught. Speak, or we find the next layer.”
He pressed both palms to his temples. The ink glands beneath his skin itched — wanted to release, to defend — but this was no predator. This was memory. Rotting, slick, and barbed.
Pain. Repetition. They hadn’t just broken him — they’d tuned him, like an instrument. Not for obedience. For resistance. He’d learned to lie with his eyes. Bleed in rhythm. Lock every thought behind a fortress of mental static.
He gasped. A soft whimper escaped before he caught it and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His mouth filled with the taste of copper.
“Stop it,” he growled, but his voice sounded alien. Then the mirror cracked.
He hadn’t meant to strike it. He hadn’t even felt his fist move. But the fractured lines across the glass spidered out from the point of impact, jagged and chaotic. His breath came faster, panic boiling beneath the surface of his skin.
The Justicar. That name alone was a blade. Not because he feared punishment — but because it reminded him of the control they had once stolen. Because it was the Justicar’s sentence that had exiled him from identity. Made him a tool, rather than a being.
He stumbled back, bumping into the bulkhead with a low thud. The cracked mirror laughed at him with ten thousand Qors — each broken, each twisted. He slammed the side of his fist into the panel again. Not the glass. This time, the wall. The metal rang out with a dull gong.
Then he stopped.
He was shaking. But not weak. Not defeated. He straightened, blood dripping from a split knuckle.
“You’re not there anymore,” he whispered to the mirror. “You’re on your ship. On your path. You outlived them all. You learned from it.”
A breath. Then another. Then silence.
He rinsed his hand under the cold water, the pain grounding him. He didn’t clean the mirror. Let them see it. Let them wonder. By the time he stepped back out into the hall, his gait was firm again. The cracks were still there. But now, they were armor.
Komilia and Elaine stood outside the door to the private party. Their childish giggles oddly modified through the Stormtrooper helmets. “Alright, alright, alright…” Komilia, weezed and took another deep breath. “Alright, we have to be serious,” she broke out into another set of giggles and Elaine joined in.
Komilia playfully shoved Elaine and she bounced off the wall. The Stormtrooper armor crunching as Elaine tried, several times, to drunkenly get off the floor. Komilia doubled over in laughter. After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to try again.
“Okay, just follow my lead,” Komilia said, making sure Elaine looked stable on her feet. She depressed the activation switch and entered the room. She felt the eyes upon her and swallowed down the bile that had the worse timing. Maybe this was a bad idea…but, her alcohol empowered conscience was having none of that.
“By order of the Tri…Triumvirate of the Brotherhood approaches! You will all present yourself for security inspect before they disembark,” Komilia said, in her most commanding voice. She was thankful the helmet hide her beaming smile as she saw certain people in the room panic. She knew exactly what she wanted to do.
Elaine followed as she marched up to Duk. “Identification!” Komilia snapped.
“really?” Wenet furrowed her brow when Korvyn told her they were more alike than she assumed . I find that hard to believe she thought to herself but she decided to keep an open mind and just listen to what the man had to say.
Sitting down, the Kushiban could barely look over the table. But she could see how Korvyn poured himself a glass and drank from it. Wenet was quite thirsty and although she didn’t believe the contents of the pitcher was poisoned, she did however think that it contained alcohol. Probably better if I skip a drink, she thought to herself as she listened to Korvyn’s offer.
When he pulled out the holoprojector her brow went up. When she saw the image it projected her eyes widened. Without realizing it, she hopped onto her feet. Standing on the chair she leaned onto the table and looked at the image more closely. Already in her mind she thought of all the possibilities. a home, I can build a home for Baka and me.. A real home. for the past couple of years she had been living on ships, even at Odan Urr she didn’t have something of her own. could even build something for my new pet. she hadn’t exactly thought it through when she bought her new pet. It was small now, but it wouldn’t be small forever so she knew she needed to find a solution. A bigger ship? But that’s no place for a child or rancor to grow up.
“So I don’t have to become a Sith?” Wenet finally broke the silence. Her eyes met Korvyn’s “I don’t really understand the gifts I’ve been given, I thought the Jedi could help me understand. I’m too unstable to be a Jedi, but I don’t think I want to be a Sith either.” she cocked her head slightly to the left, “but this offer, feels too good to be true. It’s comes at the perfect time.” she smiles softly at the man in front of her.
“For me? I can’t think of a reason.” He replied. “It’s been a few decades since I caught the eye of someone that high ranked. Usually best to let them run in their circles of power.”
Waza reached out with the force so sense their approach and could not sense the power of the Grandmaster, or any of the entourage that would accompany those of rank.
Keeping an eye on Wenet, Waza split his attention between the door, his table companion and her.
“So I guess I’m looking for a new home, is there someone I could talk to about moving or joining up?”
“For me, the force is a tool. Another trick in the bag so to speak.” Korvyn replied to Wenet, “It is only as good or bad as the person wielding it. Much like a blaster or a lightsaber. You can choose your own path on how you wield it.”
He retrieved the holoprojector from the table and pulled out his data pad. Keying in the coordinates of the property he brought up the deed and signed it. The land grant went through and Wenet was now the owner of her own place on Seraph. He forwarded the document to her and took another drink of water.
“The transfer of land is complete. The only condition is that if I need your smuggling expertise you will be ready to take the job.”
Kah’ri watched as the two stormtroopers came up to patrons at the bar and felt his pocket to make sure he had his code cylinder where he expected it to be. Turning back, he lifted his glass to find it empty.
“Usually, you’d beed to speak to one of the House Quaestors,” he said, carrying on and gesturing to the droid for a refill. “But seeing as neither of them are here, and given the specifics of your… disposition, I’d recommend you have a chat with our lovely host, Vizier, and Proconsul, <@583854106599489557> .”
The droid took his glass and rushed to the other end of the bar passing the otherwise occupied patrons.
“If they ask, tell them I sent you.” Kah’ri said. The way he figured it, his name might give the new recruit an in with House Acclivis Draco’s Quaestor, Hugo Siphaar.
“Wait what?!” Wenet exclaimed. Yeah, she had mentioned the offer came at the right time but she hadn’t accepted anything yet.
She needed a moment to collect herself and think about what this meant. She now was officially no longer a member of Odan Urr, not that they would miss her. She was now part of Scholea Palatinea; an ally?, a hired gun? Just a Smuggler? She still had to find her place among them. But most importantly she had a home, place she could call her own.
Wenet’s lips curled up into a beaming smile. “I’ll be ready” she told Korvyn.
Reiden sipped his drink from his spot at the bar. The announcement caught him by surprise, causing him to raise a brow. It didn’t really make any sense to him. The Justicar joining seemed more plausible, given Kamjin’s ties to the clan and his daughter’s presence, to say nothing of the fact that both Ellac and Duk were here as well. The Grand Master and his Deputy, however? That didn’t track. This was some random party, not something that would require either of them to attend, let alone both at the same time.
Then again, he didn’t really know much about either man to say what they might or might not do. Curiously, he couldn’t sense anything that would signal such an arrival. Of course, he knew there were ways to mask oneself, whether from sight or searching through the Force. Still, it would be interesting to see how it all turned out if they were coming. It certainly got the gathered guests talking, wondering what might be going on.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly, more to himself and the situation than anyone else. He signalled one of the serving droids for a refill then took a sip from the glass when it was slid over to him once more. There wasn’t much he could do but wait at this point.
“Then it is settled. Now I have kept Socorra waiting far to long, and she is not a person you keep waiting.” Korvyn said before getting up from his chair and began walking towards the woman in the black dress.
<@141239709291511808>
“Are you new here?,” he snarled not even looking up from his empty shot glasses. “I don’t need to show you anything. Besides we wouldn’t have been invited here if we weren’t already thoroughly vetted.” He turn toward the two stormtroopers. The one in the back seemed to have wobbled slightly.
These two are definitely new here. I guess keeping reliable peons is hard when one mistake means death. He looked at the trooper demanding identification. “You’d do good to walk away. While you still can, buckethead.” He snarled.
Komilia stared dead-eyed at Duk. ‘Seriously, what is with this guy’s attitude,’ the little evil persona in her mind asked. An internal struggle broke out. ‘Don’t do it,’ the limited sober persona pleaded while the evil twin smirked a dangerous smirk.
Despite her intoxication, Komilia amped herself up. She grabbed hold of one of Duk’s Lekku and slammed his head into the tabletop. The glass shattered as Komilia forced the more muscular man’s head to slowly turn to face her.
“I send ID,” she said through her modulated helmet. “You think the Triumvirate would have us here if we couldn’t handle your lip!”
Komilia couldn’t tell what Elaine was thinking but her amplified state was starting to burn off the alcohol and the sober voice inside of her was scrambling for control. Komilia looked around the room and realized she may have overplayed her hand.
The bathroom door hissed open with a soft pneumatic sigh, and Qor emerged with the cold composure of a man who had just survived a deeply personal war. He adjusted the long, ceremonial cuffs of his dark coat and glanced over the opulence of Korvyn’s party—drifting lights, low electro-jazz, the sharp scent of spice and perfume. Typical nobles and hangers-on.
He strode toward the oval durasteel bar in the center of the lounge, its polished surface glowing faintly with embedded hololights. A drink droid pivoted toward him on a silent track.
“Gingered Ne'tra gal, cold,” he murmured. The droid chirped and began its mix.
Qor took a slow breath through his gills, letting his mind sharpen. The party felt off. Not dangerous—yet—but off. There was tension somewhere, and not the normal kind that simmers under forced smiles and political posturing.
His yellow eyes scanned the room.
Stormtroopers?
He hadn’t seen them earlier. And the way one of them—slightly smaller, probably female—shifted on her feet gave him pause. The other had a micro-wobble in her stance, a subtle imbalance no Imperial-trained soldier would tolerate in armor that unforgiving. He noted the lack of sidearms, the odd body language.
Drunk. They’re drunk in the armor.
Qor turned slightly, picking up his drink with a curt nod to the droid. He let the cold glass rest between his fingertips and positioned himself just within earshot of the altercation brewing near one of the side lounges—Duk’s booming voice, then a sudden hush.
“Identification!” the lead trooper barked. Overcompensating, with the delivery of someone who had practiced the line moments before speaking it.
Qor sipped—then paused, glass halfway to his lips.
One of the troopers surged forward without warning. The clumsy burst of motion ended with a gauntlet clamping around Duk’s lekku.
Qor winced preemptively, but the sound that followed was still sharp: the solid crack of a Togruta skull meeting a durasteel edge as the trooper slammed Duk’s face into the table.
The room flinched.
The stormtrooper leaned in over Duk’s crumpled form. “I said—identification.”
Behind the visor, Qor imagined the drunken flush of bravado, the stupid grin of someone playing pretend with live weapons. A joke spiraling out of control.
Still sipping, he angled his stance slightly, one hand now behind his back, where a thin, alchemically-etched blade rested in its hidden sheath beneath his coat.
Not that he was worried.
He was just curious how this would play out.
And ready—just in case someone really took offense.
Socorra? Wenet furrowed her brow as she watched Korvyn walk away, leaving her alone at the table. The Kushiban had no idea who that was. In fact as she looks around the room she has no idea who most of these people are. She saw Waza, still chatting with the individual next to him at the bar. She could no longer see her new friends, Komilia or Elaine. Maybe they left?. Other than Korvyn she didn’t know any of them by name just by impression. The shifty looking Quarren, the arrogant Togruta and rude blind man.
Wenet sighs. Now that she’s officially an ally to the clan she feels less anxious to be here. She belongs here now but still she feels a little lost. Feeling thirsty she finally decides to try whatever is in the pitcher in front of her. She hops onto the table and with both hands she lifts the pitcher up and pours herself a glass. After putting the pitcher down she takes the large glass in both hands and sniffs it. hmm, it’s just water, she thinks to herself feeling quite relieved and takes a sip.
Wenet sits herself down on the edge of the tabel. Legs crossed, dangling over the edge. Instead of fidgeting with her dress she strokes her fluffy tail that is draped over her lap as she observes the room.
Duk’s head slammed across against the bar. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Not a single sound left his mouth as the glass drove itself deeper into his face. A feeling he was all too familiar with. Blood slowly trickled from his brow and down to the tip of his lekku.
OH HELL YEAH!! DO IT!!, his inner voice shouted. Rage!
He gripped the trooper’s wrist and pried it from his lekku. He stared at his reflection in the tinted lenses of the helmet. “You DARE lay your hands on me?!” He shouted. The tension was now tangible.
“You think your armor will protect you?” His free hand gripped his lightsaber hilt from under his cloak. “Do you truly think that the Triumvirate will save you?” Duk felt the Force around him constrict and then— Ksssshh. His lightsaber ignited with a hiss.
He raised his lightsaber to strike the stormtrooper while not releasing their wrist.
Komilia panicked. Stretching out her hand she intended to send Duk flying away but the Sith resisted. Clearly her father had taught him something. If there had been a shock at the resistance it didn’t slow the Torguta down as he came back swinging at Komilia’s head.
She reached behind her, igniting the emerald blade of her grandfather’s lightsaber snapped to existence as she slashed upwards.
Time slowed down. The blur of the blade blinded Komilia as the trooper’s polarized goggles adjusted. As her vision cleared she saw the severed hand, still clutching the crimson blade, spinning through the air.
The sobering voice in her head exploded with expletives. She knew she had screwed up. The joke had gone off the rails and now she had maimed her father’s apprentice.
She pointed her blade at Duk, ready to defend herself. Her mind was reeling. “It’s…not safe here,” her voice cracked. “We need to go back to the shuttle…ummm…trooper. Clearly the…uh, people can’t board now,” Komilia said, backing away from the wounded Torguta.
“Come on. Let’s go,” she said, gesturing with her other hand at Elaine as she backed away. She saw Wenet and felt horrible for leaving one of her new friends behind but she didn’t see a way out of this.
A modulated, sadistic laugh sounded from Elaine through the helmet.
“Now Kamjin will just think you’re desperate for attention, trying to look like my sad excuse for a brother and all,” she said.
The sober side of Elaine was telling her to leave before things got even more escalated but she didn’t listen. Instead, she took the stormtrooper helmet from her head and threw it at the Togruta’s bleeding head.
The scorched and bloodstained helmet flew through the air with fierce agility. Duk dodge the helmet as it was just inches away from his face as it flew past him into the bottles of fine liquor and glasses of crystal, shattering almost everything it collided with.
The bartending droid looked at the mess that had become of his bar in disappointment, though his face remained emotionlessly metallic.
Elaine swiftly turned around and began to make her escape, grasping Komilia’s hand along the way as she continued to move.
Komilia kept her saber leveled as she grasped Elaine’s hand and led them out of the room. As soon as the door closed she extinguished her blade.
“We need to run…now!” Komilia said as she pulled Elaine after her as they sprinted to the hangar.
Duk’s shouts of pain reverberated through the ship. “I’ll kill you for this!” He tightly held his right forearm with his still intact left hand. Uncontrollable groans and grunts escaped from him with every heat beat.
He was furious. He looked around the room and then to his lightsaber on the floor still in the grip of his severed hand. He reached out and commanded his lightsaber to come to his left hand. In a swoosh he it did as instructed. He struggled trying to get the lightsaber connected to its home on his hip. Finally he gave up and tucked it under his handless arm while he fumbled around to find his communicator.
Kzzzt ”Proto! Bring the shuttle around! We are leaving. NOW!” Kzzzt he shouted.
“Did someone eat more glass? I told you this would be good for you.” The droid used every ounce of sarcasm he was able to.
“Shut up and do you as you’re told, droid.”
Within minutes the shuttle arrived and Duk left without saying another word to anyone.
Socorra stood near the edge of the lounge, tucked just inside the shadow of one of the structural arches. Her hair was drawn into an elaborate half-updo, with loose waves cascading over one shoulder, secured with an ornate clasp. It was subtle enough to pass for ornament, but if a blade or two could be hidden there, they were.
One white strand had slipped loose. She tucked it behind her ear as Korvyn approached, a small and deliberate movement. Maybe Wyn’s coaching had stuck more than she thought.
“It’s a diplomatic reception scene. You’re supposed to charm the ambassador.” “Why would I charm him? I don’t like him.” “You’ve never met him.” “Exactly.”
Or maybe the lessons hadn’t stuck after all.
“You kept me waiting.” That was her greeting to the Proconsul.
Socorra’s voice was low and rough, carrying a clipped deep-rim desert lilt, softened just enough to sound like she might be in on the joke. In truth, she was still a little entertained by Komilia’s comm prank.
One hip settled with well-rehearsed grace, every inch of it placed like a stage cue, just as her burn-scarred hand extended toward the Proconsul. The palm tilted at an angle that hovered between handshake and kiss, not quite either, deliberately both. Perfumed air lingered at her wrist, mysterious and bold without cloying.
“You flatter me, Korvyn,” she slightly smirked, the R of his name rolling on her tongue. “I’m certain I was not most dangerous t'ing you kept waiting tonight.”
The commotion had ended, though the scent of scorched synth-leather and coppery blood lingered stubbornly in the air like the echo of a scream. Glass crunched underfoot, a gentle reminder of the violence that had shattered not just furniture — but intentions.
The bar was mostly silent now, save for the hissing of a broken dispenser and the quiet hum of the ventilation system struggling to dispel the stench of charred flesh. Patrons had scattered like mynocks from a plasma flare, those remaining feigning interest in their untouched drinks or conveniently staring into empty hands.
But Qor remained still, standing in the same place he had when it began. Watching.
He had seen it — the moment the blade met resistance, the brief shimmer of agony in Duk’s face as his hand separated from his arm like a discarded glove. And he hadn’t looked away.
Now, in the aftermath, Qor moved at last.
The severed hand had landed near the base of the liquor shelf, curled in on itself with a deathlike resolve, fingers locked in a final, useless gesture. There was no twitch, no spasm — just a grotesque stillness, as though the hand hadn’t gotten the memo that the duel was over. Duk was gone. Fled. Bleeding. Shouting oaths he might not survive long enough to keep.
Qor crouched beside the hand, tendrils gently swaying as if tasting the psychic residue in the air. He studied it with the cold, clinical detachment of a battlefield surgeon, eyes narrowing as he examined the tense flex of the fingers, the blue skin now darkened and cracked near the cauterization point.
Fascinating. The residual pulse of the Force still shimmered faintly beneath the skin — not quite alive, not entirely dead either. A paradox preserved in pain.
“Stubborn little fragment,” he murmured, voice smooth and almost affectionate, like one might speak to a wild beast or a poisonous flower. “Are you still listening, I wonder?”
From his satchel, he drew a compact stasis vial. Inside it swirled a preservation gel — alchemical in nature, mixed by his own hand. It bubbled faintly with trace metals, stims, cooling enzymes, and slow, whispering runes etched into the glass itself. As he placed the hand inside, the gel clung lovingly to the skin, absorbing and preserving the last echoes of warmth.
He sealed the vial and tucked it into a padded, insulated compartment within his robe — close to his chest.
Not a trophy.
A question.
A possibility.
“Clone it,” he muttered aloud, voice barely louder than breath. “Reattach it. Bind it to a willing fool and see what stirs. Maybe it screams. Maybe it sees. Maybe it kills.”
He paused, considering. “Or maybe it remembers.”
There was something humorous in that — or at least, Qor thought so. The idea of an appendage holding grudges. His mouth curled slightly, a cruel imitation of a smile.
Let Duk rage and howl, let Komilia sprint through corridors full of guilt. They had their own roles to play in the mess they’d stirred. But Qor? Qor had taken what mattered.
The hand. The DNA. The Force imprint. Everything else could be rebuilt — regrown — repurposed.
He turned back to the shattered bar, noting the splattered blood on the counter and the broken helmet lodged in what was left of a vintage Tarisian whiskey bottle. The bartender droid looked at him. Blank expression, flickering servos. It started to speak.
“I must remind patrons that—”
Qor raised a hand and cut him off. “I was never here.”
The droid blinked, confused. “But—”
“I was never here,” Qor repeated, more firmly, invoking a minor touch of the Force into his words. Just enough to muddy the memory. A convenient nudge.
He moved through the corridor beyond the bar, taking a turn that led him up toward the guest deck. The ship still trembled faintly with atmosphere readjustments and system pings. Somewhere beyond the bulkhead, music played again—tentatively—as if the party might still be salvaged.
Qor stepped into the private hangar where a shuttle terminal glowed with dull light, awaiting the next off-world transfer.
But before departing, he paused at the access comm and keyed in a direct channel.
“Korvyn,” he said, voice calm. “Your hospitality is… appreciated. As was the entertainment. Thank you for the invitation.”
He paused just long enough to let the sincerity—or the echo of it—linger.
“I’ll be departing now. No need for farewells.”
The message ended without a signature. Just silence.
Qor turned, stepped aboard the waiting public shuttle, and disappeared into its dim cabin without another word. No escort. No ceremony. Just a shadow among many.
The doors sealed with a hiss.
And then he was gone.
But the hand — the story — would follow.
Feeling more at ease, Wenet remained seated on the tabel. Her legs slowly swaying over the edge of the tabel, tip of her tail peacefully swished side to side as she stroked the fluffy fur. Her eyes were open, staring into the room where scenes unfolded but her mind was parsecs away, thinking about the land on Seraph. The corners of her lips curled up at the thought of building her own burrow at the edge of the lake. She’d have to make adjustments for Baka as he was alot bigger than her, but he would get his own room. I’m gonna need some security though she thought to herself and pondered on what kind. Cameras? Sensors? Or.. Perhaps a droid? There would be times she’d have to leave for a job, can’t take Baka, can’t leave him alone either and Azumi has her own things to do.. A droid would be handy. One that could handle a fully grown Houk, Wenet squinted her eyes as she thought about it.
A bang popped her bubble and brought her back to the party. She saw how the Togruta she had met briefly before was bleeding from his brow. It only took a glimpse at the stopttrooper and the bar to understand what happened. “ouch” Wenet said softly as she wrinkled her nose.
No longer relaxed, but alert, Wenet sat up straight. Her ears popped, listening to what was said when the Togruta grabbed the stormtrooper by the wrist. Her eyes widened by the sight of the light saber “oh boy…” she muttered. Then the trooper pulled out a lightsaber “That’s no ordinary trooper. ” she gasped at the sight of the Togrutas hand being chopped off.
Then her jaw dropped, Elaine was reveiled to be one of the troopers. At once she realized that Komilia would be the other one that had done the chopping.
As the two escaped the scene Wenet shook her head, “What is it with these people and fights at parties?, ugh.. What did I get myself in to?” with a furrowed brow she grabbed the glass of water and took another sip.
“Oh you were.” Korvyn replied as he took her hand. A polite but firm handshake followed. He greeted her as an equal, only the Empress got the kiss on the hand. Even that was more out her station than anything else. “I had a small matter to attend to with one of my new smugglers. A simple contract negotiation but it needed to be done quickly before she sobered up.”
He led the Arconan to one of the massive viewports and watched as Duk’s shuttle left. One day he would learn to keep his mouth shut when needed. But today was not it. Some had to learn the hard way. As for Elaine and Komilia he would find something suitable as punishment for wrecking his new bar and its carefully curated collection of spirits.
“Now let us get our business sorted out.” A wave of his hand brought a droid to him carrying a Camtono.
Reiden could only shake his head at the display that had unfolded. Sadly, it barely fazed him, so used to such things happening at gatherings the clan held. He only hoped that, one day, the younger members would know that there was a time and a place for those kinds of things. And hopefully they would also have a better handle on their emotions. The Lap'lamiz girl in particular. It was a simple enough deduction that she was the lightsaber-wielding stormtrooper, especially once Elaine had been revealed as the other one. Most stormtroopers never carried such weapons, let alone would resort to using them over something so trivial. And hopefully Duk would learn a lesson from this as well. He recalled that the Togruta had fared poorly in a previous gathering.
He idly swirled the liquor in his glass, watching the large ice cube move around, listening to it lightly clink against the side of the glass. He took a sip. Despite what had happened, both in the past and now, he had hope for the new generation of clan members. They had passion, and that could always be harnessed, honed into something useful. Sometimes it just took a little focus or time. But he was sure they would learn. Reports indicated they were generally capable. They held promise.
Socorra followed him toward the viewport with quiet clicks of her heels. Her one arctic eye drifted across the room before returning to him. “Komilia was on my crew last time I hosted one of t’ese. T’Exeter, last year. Evant’s yacht. You missed it.”
Her hand lifted slightly, palm open, as if presenting the aftermath.“She did well. Right up until my bar also looked like t’is.”
Her tone shifted, just slightly. “Mmm. Depending on cargo,” she said, “I have contacts, if need.” The sigil of the Black Bha’lir peeked out from beneath the burn scars on her hand, subtle but visible if he’d paid attention during the handshake.