“Lord Renatus, I must insist that you remain presentable for the duration of the gala.”
The hired hand (a designer of some repute hired at Archenksova’s advice) seemed almost manic as they pat at the Firrerreo’s tailored suit. It was a gaudy number, consisting of finely fitted black pants with a single pleat, completed by freshly shined shoes. A black belt was accented with a golden medallion pattern, which was about to be a theme because his vest was of the same colouring. His buttons and even a chain running from the bottom button and terminating hidden somewhere else within the vest were gold. Even his tie was gold with speckled variations of hues within it. The only white was his undershirt. The long flowing, black jacket ran almost to ankle length with a billowing spread, draconic emblems in gold thread running along the edges and mirrored by the gold lining within and an equally gaudy lapel. Of course, he was wearing black leather gloves. All in all, there wasn’t a wrinkle to be found, so Renatus was downright confused about what the problem was.
“I am presentable,” Renatus growled and gestured vaguely from the neck down.
The designer crossed their arms and took a step back, then looked him over with a hand extended out on exasperation. “It’s not the suit, Darling, it’s the face. It screams ‘I hate you, me, and everything about this’ from a mile away. It’s done so for the past hour, Darling!”
“…that is just my face.”
“He cannot help it,” another voice interrupted as Uji Tameike was similarly assaulted. “He woke up that way today. Every day, for that matter.”
The Deputy Grand Master cast an offended glance at his friend, the older man favouring a cane and a smirk. That was the first point for Uji. There would be others, on both sides.
An exasperated sigh and a flutter of raised hands embodied what the designer thought of that. Still, Renatus was as finished as he was going to get and was already on site to be unleashed upon the Tem Gala. Hosted in Principate Space, the Gala was as ostentatious as it sounded. It was like an entire planet had been converted for the purposes of one giant party. The Firrerreo wouldn’t have found it out of place on Zeltros, yet he wasn’t there now was he? The Gala itself was expansive enough, but another entire territory had been claimed by paparazzi and vid crews looking to circulate live in the local sector. Plenty of apartments and buildings had been made available to visitors so that they could be made ready on-site and unleashed upon the waiting masses.
Frankly, Renatus felt like a prized pig ready for slaughter. Already the tie chaffed like he was being slowly choked to death.
This was going to be so fun. At least misery loved company.
One of the perks of having a position of power was always going to be abusing that power (in a manner not oppressive or opportunistic against the perceived balance Renatus sought to maintain). When he voluntold asked Uji to be his ‘plus one’, it was only a request in appearance only. It could become orders with a speed only limited by how annoying Renatus wanted to be.
“Are you ready, or would you like to poke the rancor some more?” Renatus inquired towards his friend.
A young Zeltron woman strode in, walking next to an equally well dressed Jedi, her head held high. She wore a black strapless dress that accentuated her curves. A loose non-structural section of fabric hooked over her left shoulder and bound down her arm connecting to a set of mid-humerus-length lace gloves. The skirt of the dress was flowing out into an A-frame, favoring her right side hip and draped to the floor. A toned left leg was seen through a leg split as she walked. A set of 4 inch black heels could be heard clicking along the tiled floor.
“Thank you for the invite, Sir,” She murmured to the Jedi she accompanied as she gazed around. She would not have been able to secure a spot in such a sophisticated highbrow gala. All the big names were said to be here, and well. She was just.. Esen Dulle. Sure she had served in the Dajorran military, and now she was the lead researcher and scientific engineer at the Haevan Research Facility, but she had not climbed the ranks to deserve such a spot here.
She knew why she was invited, yet she still felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her droid, Vox, had worried like a grandma being as he couldn’t come to such a fancy event, but she assured him she would try her best to be safe. She also assured him that such a glamourous event had plenty of security, but to ease him, she promised to bring her blaster which currently lay strapped to her thigh, covered under her skirt.
She took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. She ignored the looming thoughts about the dress. She needed to own it. She looked good. A dress like this deserved someone with confidence. Or… at least faux confidence. She took a deep breath, and a cool, almost bored mask lined her features, as they proceeded further in.
“Oh please don’t call me sir Esen, I already feel ancient,” Turel replied fully aware that he was old enough to be the Zeltron’s father. “Besides, you look stunning dear. You should come to these functions more often.”
Turel had volunteered to represent the Odan-Urr council at this function hoping his sister, the Herald of the Brotherhood, would be there. Normally he’d have gone with his long-time partner Vorsa but she was with some younglings and their adopted daughter on a spiritual retreat. He invited his teammate Esen because he surmised correctly that she would enjoy the opportunity to dress up and that the younger woman needed a little bit of a confidence boost. Plus she looked better in a dress than Edgar.
The Jedi Master wouldn’t brag but he did clean up pretty well himself. He wore a sherwani with a regal tapestry of crimson and gold. The rich red silk shimmered under the chandeliers, embroidered with intricate gold thread that traced swirling paisleys and imperial motifs across the chest and sleeves. A high collar framed his neck, stiff with ornate detailing, while gold buttons marched down the front. The sherwani flared slightly at the hem, brushing against sleek black pants tailored to perfection, their simplicity grounding the opulence above. His boots—polished black leather added a modern edge to the traditional ensemble, clicking softly against the marble floor with each step.
Turel smirked as he noticed Thane and Uji across the room.
Uji had been ready more or less from the beginning. His simple yet elegant suit showed little, with most of his style coming from the cane he carefully grasped in one hand. How fortunate for him.
The pair of Councilors had wasted little time running the gauntlet that was the red carpet. The Firrerreo’s sensitive eyes still showed a tapestry of flashes burnt into his retina. In fact, he could barely recall much of the whirlwind experience. So many cameras and people shouting for attention. It was overwhelming. And still, he was envious of the still indifference emanating from Tameike even as the other man held his lips in a thin, downturned line and seemed almost half-lidded.
“You could pretend to be bothered,” Renatus hissed under the din, only to catch Uji’s smirk in response. Before he could continue, they both squinted and turned their gaze, sensing the familiar sensation before catching sight of Turel. Renatus in particular locked eyes with the man and hoped they weren’t about to have to break out in some sort of dance battle.
It was a Gala after all. Didn’t they dance at those?
“Sorenn,” the Deputy Grand Master called out with an upward nod.
The two one-night couples approached one another. Thane and Uji moved in sync, their practiced stride allowing Thane to remain just ahead of Uji’s slower, deliberate pace. In contrast, Turel all but swept his young companion off her feet as he strode across the room. The Jedi Master’s grin was infectious, his aura drawing glances from onlookers before he came to stand before them, offering an exaggerated, almost foppish bow.
“You look absolutely stunning, Thane. And Uji… my, my, I haven’t seen you out for a night in years.” Turel’s words came quick and light, his eyes darting between the two men as though taking stock of every detail.
“Turel… I am surprised to see you without Vorsa at your side,” Uji replied, his lip curling into a small, knowing smile.
“And you without that wife of yours,” Turel countered easily, grin widening. “Surely she must be upset that you chose Renatus here over her.”
“Well, I tend to leave a party wearing the clothes I came with,” Thane quipped smoothly.
A small gasp escaped the Jedi’s companion. All three men turned at once, their gazes settling on the Zeltron, who flushed a brilliant crimson—her bright blue hair only heightening the contrast.
“Do you intend to introduce us, old friend?” Uji asked, one brow raised.
“I suppose I should,” Turel drawled, his mocking tone dragging out the young woman’s discomfort.
“Darth Renatus, Deputy Grand Master,” he said with a casual wave toward the taller man.
“And this dear fellow, in what looks like a credit-store suit, is Uji Tameike, Fist of the Brotherhood.” He punctuated the jab with a familiar pat on Uji’s shoulder.
By now, a circle of silence had formed around them, curious onlookers drawn by the outlandish display. Trapped in the center, Esen instinctively edged back, seeking some way out—until Turel took her hand and lifted it high, displaying her like a prize.
“And this, my old friends,” he declared with a flourish, “is Esen Dulle, an up-and-coming treasure of Odan-Urr.”
Esen’s gaze danced over the features of Thane and Uji. Examining. She had seen them somewhere. Their dossiers maybe?
Well for one— she had seen Thane at the Bonfire, but she had just mainly stuck to herself. Heard others call him… Thane?
Dossiers, names, and descriptions ran through the databank in her mind. Her eyes darted to the both approaching figures, checking over key details.
Mentally tallying the height of the man in the back. About six foot. Goatee. The longer dark hair in a top knot, brown eyes. The most notable detail— the ever-so-slight limp and the cane.
Her gaze flicked to the man in front. This assumed… Thane.
A few inches taller than the man in the back. Humanoid… what species though? Skin is a bit off… Hmmm. Dark hair full beard.
Upon closer inspection his hair appeared ever so slightly two toned. Firrerreo perhaps? Surely not? Firrerreo are usually gold or bronzeish… unless… scared or angry and then they turn… silver. Ah-ha!
Those eyes. Boring holes into her soul. The black sclera and bright gold pupils.
The dossiers lined up with the figures rapidly approaching at too high of a speed.
Oh crik.
She knows who they are.
She stayed back, subtly hiding in the shadows of Turel as he approached them and interacted with them like… like old friends. Perhaps she did not know her companion as much as she thought.
She listened with bated breath at the slight quips to one another. Not realizing the small squeak that had escaped her. Drawing their attention to the one place she didn’t want it. Her.
Their eyes bore down like a weights. Her initial thought was to stand at attention. Make no eye contact. Just like she was taught all those years. Giving the respect to the drastically higher ranks. But here? At the Gala? In this dress and these heels? She thought twice. She would definitely stand out then.
She’d do it no questions asked should they merely breathe an inkling of a suggestion for it.
When introductions were in order she stayed silent, that faux confident mask remaining in place. Mentally reciting their position and title along with the Jedi introducing them.
The criking Deputy Grand Master and Fist of the criking Brotherhood. Oh sugar cookies.
She was definitely out of her element here and the ever-growing, looming crowd was not helping.
After The Fist was introduced, her turn was next.
Esen Dulle. Uh. No title. Yes. Just Esen Dulle. That’s all she had to say. Simple enough. She surely could manage to squeak that out, right?
She needed a drink. Right now.
Seconds passed. She didn’t realize she was inching backwards. Thankfully, Turel stepped forward grabbed her arm introducing her with such a boisterous display…. Okay— maybe not thankfully.
If she wasn’t scarlet before, she sure was now. The blush bloomed all the way to the tips of her ears. This room suddenly became way too warm. She wasn’t anything special, just Esen. Researcher. To be paraded like this in front of The DGM and The Fist. Those who worked hard to earn their titles. Her head began to spin.
“Uh-“ she cleared her throat. Those haunting etiquette classes resurfaced in her mind. No filler interjections! Shake hands.
Shake hands.. yes, right. But what if they thought she was attacking them? If not, Her palms are surely too clammy. Perhaps a curtsy would suffice. Now if only her criking knees would bend and her legs would work. Breathe, Esen, breathe, she mentally told herself as she lowered herself into a practiced curtsy.
She had realized big names would be here but she didn’t think these big names would be here.
It didn’t take a telepath to notice that Esen was so anxious she might pass out or throw up on the trio of older men. Turel felt a surge of fatherly protectiveness toward his Knights teammate. Was he old enough to be her father? He didn’t want to do the mental math on that one. It would be too depressing.
The Jedi Master gingerly hooked his arm around Esen’s and made a gesture toward the refreshment table with his free hand, “Let’s leave these stubborn old eopies for a moment and get some drinks.”
Uji smiled as he watched Turel walk away, then turned to Thane and leaned close enough not to be overheard.
“It would be advantageous for you to draw attention. I will handle our arranged meeting and collect what we came for. I imagine with the present company, it will not take much for you to draw the crowd.”
The older man patted the Deputy Grand Master on the shoulder before making his way across the open floor, leaving Thane to his own machinations.
As he passed, several guests tried to intercept or engage him. The attention their presence was attracting would make anything clandestine more difficult to accomplish, but all he needed was to complete the handoff and retrieve the informant’s data chip before their departure.
Retrieving a drink from a passing waiter, Uji meandered through the party, ensuring he was seen before slipping into a side chamber to collect himself. There, he caught sight of Cato Varn, the Principate informant he was to meet. The two would wait until an opportunity presented itself to slip away.
Cato, dressed in a borrowed uniform, moved through the gala with careful precision, avoiding any contact with members of the Brotherhood so as not to draw attention. They all knew there would be eyes from the Brotherhood, the Principate, and other interested parties present at the event.
“…but I hate crowds,” Renatus muttered dejectedly as Uji departed. He looked almost crestfallen at the mere concept before gathering himself once more. The tall Firrerreo let out a blast of air disguised as a sigh. Well, if he was going to do something he hated, he at least should do it lubricated.
Alcohol. He meant alcohol.
The Deputy Grand Master counted out what he felt would be a respectful delay before following Turel and his mousey charge to the drinks. He was more than prepared to offer a few polite greetings and nods, but somehow his aura of discontent made that unneccesary. Finally, he stepped in and reached over Turel’s shoulder to take the Jedi’s glass from him mid-sip, finishing off the contents in a quick toss of the head while spinning to lean against the table.
“I know why we are here,” Renatus stated, complete with vague hand gestures. “What trouble do you bring?”
For a moment Turel was thoroughly confused by the Deputy Grand Master’s uncharacteristically dramatic display. A quick glance to his side showed a horrified look on Esen’s face as she clasped her drink with two hands. Where is Uji? Gasps and stares began to spread like wildfire through the immediate crowd around him. Turel straightened up and shot Thane his sassiest defiant stare as he reached across the currents of the Force flowing through the room to chance touching the Firrerro’s mind.
The Jedi Sentinel knew Thane’s psyche to be highly disciplined, structured, like a durasteel fortress, highly resistant to intrusion or suggestion. This time a single word came through the Deputy Grand Master’s surface thoughts loud and clear, almost as if he wanted Turel to hear it: Distraction. Turel withdrew the connection with a grin, for he understood the assignment.
The human kept his eyes locked on the Firrerro as he reached back with his dominant hand to gesture to Esen to step back. “Stay here and enjoy the refreshments my dear, I have to teach our future Grand Master some manners.” He added a silent message directly into her mind of “stay alert, watch the room for anything suspicious”
Turel sashayed right up to Thane, threw one hand on his hip and extended his other hand toward the Deputy Grand Master letting his wrist go limp and placing his index finger on Thane’s chest. “Oh honey we Sorenns don’t bring trouble we are the trouble.” He paused for dramatic effect and the now growing audience reaction. “Shall we settle this on the dance floor?”
At this reminder, Esen’s demeanor shifted, and like a light switch, turned back on the “work mode”. Her posture shifted and she nodded. Ashamed she let her emotions come before work, but dealing with them will come later.
She opted for an offered fruity mocktail and a light cracker bar to nibble on in the off chance she needed to look busy. She stood around but out of the path of those also looking to get refreshments or snacks, but close enough to seems inconspicuous.
She watched as Turel sashayed up to Thane, and watched as the two started their immaculate performance. No way would she have the self confidence to dance this publicly, at this level of high brow establishment. Nevertheless the two of them flowed as freely as the river flows through the reeds. The display was elegant, tasteful, and quite honestly very impressive.
She watched as the crowd grew, yet silence fell, with baited breath listening to the crescendo of the music rise and fall. The crowds attention angled on the performance. Well– most of the crowd. One fellow in particular seemed to try and blend in with the looming crowd, but ever so sneakily slowly snaked his way through the flock. Esen took a longer-than-usual sip off her glass, peering down the edge of it at him. Her gaze never faltering. Committing his face and clothing to memory.
He reached the back of the congregation and waited. A small interval passed, the song and dance ended. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, before slipping into a side room, slowly shutting the door behind.
An amused mental chuckle rang through her. Smart. Using the crowd to cover his movements. She made eye contact with Turel, cocking an eyebrow and raising her glass in a toast. Symbolic. Hoping he got her cryptic message.
Minutes prior
Uji heard the beginnings of the commotion in the main hall, the band rising into a crescendo as they began to play for the two eccentric guests. Even from this distance he could feel Turel’s amusement as he and Thane set their distraction in motion. Uji set his drink down and moved farther into the hallway, watching others pass him on their way to the main hall.
At the far end of the corridor, Uji stepped into a side chamber—quiet and dim, not intended for guests. Silken banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, covering large portions of the tall windows and blocking the moonlight; long shadows pooled across the gallery.
He sensed Cato waiting by one of the windows, the informant half-hidden in shadow, fidgeting and nervous as he awaited the pickup. Uji strode through the room with the confidence of a man who sensed nothing amiss—only Cato.
“Apologies for the delay. It was necessary to ensure we would not be missed,” Uji said as he approached.
“Yeah, whatever. Just take this so I can get out of here. My payment better be waiting,” Cato said, eyes darting, sweat beading on his forehead as he fumbled the item from his pocket. Uji noticed the tremor in his hands and slowed as he came within reach.
Cato held his hand out, palm down. In the distance the band began to wind down and Uji knew he had to hurry. He reached out with his left hand, and did not sense danger until it was too late. The detonator hidden in the data chip triggered a shock charge the instant Cato opened his palm. Electricity arced between the two men; their muscles seized and they convulsed.
Cato hit the floor almost instantly. Uji managed, by drawing on the Force, to keep his feet and to buy himself a sliver of awareness, even as small floating droids slipped into view from behind the curtains and tapestries. Gritting his teeth, he felt the shock finally begin to ebb though every nerve felt afire.
Stumbling back, he had only a brief moment before the grappler droids dove for him, unwinding their cables as they descended. Uji reached for the lightsaber hidden in his cane, but his body moved too slowly.
He had time for one thing: a single, wordless pulse through the Force to his companions, an urgent flare of pain and frustration, before the coils closed around him. Another burst of electricity knocked him off his feet; his arms and legs were snapped rigid by the restraints.
Renatus was on his—what, third? Fourth?—spin with Turel when they were hit by the sudden pulse from Uji. It was enough to make them nearly stumble, by they managed to recover in what looked like an intended deep lean of Turel to the point he nearly had his head touching the ground. It was a pose that they very much could not have pulled off with the taller of the two on the receiving end.
Righting themselves, they quickly scanned the scene. The mass of bodies were quickly clearing from the floor as the sudden attack incited what one would expect to be the standard response: flight. “Turel—” the Deputy began, only for the recipient to cut him off.
“Esen’s got it,” came the interjection from the Jedi.
A nod of acknowledgement was all he got as Renatus took lengthy strides through the thinning throng of gala participants. Droids seemed to be coming out of the woodwork, even seemingly innocuous ones that had been serving hors d'oeuvres just moments before now had threatening shock prods and blasters.
So much for security, eh?
With the band no longer playing, cries of panic and alarm became their accompaniment. It would have to do. Unless things had changed of late, Renatus expected little from Turel in regards to the Droids. For the length of their friendship, the Jedi had always been a bit of a trickster. Illusions over substance. There was something to be said about that, but probably best kept for close company and friendly jest. A faint grin pulled at Renatus’ lips at the thought of Turel’s snippy reply. He couldn’t afford to be too distracted, however, as everything was playing out at high speed.
Already, Uji’s prone form was being lifted by several droids and carried off towards the windows. Light cascaded in a flashing cadence, pulsing through the panes with the movement of distant vehicles. Suddenly, there was only darkness for but a moment before a blinding flash burst through and shattered the panes, followed instantly by a concussive ripple that threatened to toss everyone from their feet.
Everyone but the Droids, of course.
Renatus let out a frustrated breath through flared nostrils, a compartmentalized part of his awareness already rushing to the frigid ocean at his core. He felt the icy fire rush through his veins in response to the metaphysical plunge and so Renatus became the tempest once more. Unseen tendrils snaked through the chaos of the dance floor in every direction, even as several others followed his gestures. Renatus’ grasp embodied its eldritch nature, unflinching and uncompromising, crushing servos and tearing limbs. Droid became trash as debris scattered and flung.
They had thought Uji a weak target. Frail. Crippled.
They were wrong.
Still, Renatus would work out his frustrations until the lesson was learned.
Also, who raids a gala? Honestly?
As Turel and Thane had set up for another dance, the young Zeltron scanned the crowd. Lots of familiar faces she had seen from her studies of dossiers, but– where was the Fist? He was just here. Well.. maybe not just here. She glanced at the clock, mentally calculating the time that had passed since she saw him. She wasn’t keeping tabs on him necessarily but her analytical mind tracked these sorts of things through muscle memory from her experiments and tests.
This was getting past the usual amount of time it would take someone to be gone, and with the shady figure using the crowd to cover his movements. Crik. Turel was currently unavailable. Double crik.
She downed the rest of her drink, grateful she opted for a non-alcoholic option, before passing the glass and nutrient bar off to some passing server. Marching her way through the, now closed, door that the fellow had gone through minutes prior. Crafting the plan that should she be stopped, she would play it off that she is a slightly inebriated woman looking for a restroom. Though the thought of actually using the restroom while wearing this dress seemed like a nightmare. A fabric maze of layers overlapping… Just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine.
She found herself making her way down a hallway, walking as lightly as possible. She was listening, trying to hear any noise, but the muffled music from beyond the door behind her and the light clicking of her heels was not helping.
Just then she heard two light thumps followed by what seemed to be multiple droids speaking to one another in a side chamber, followed by low voices. She listened intently, hearing the droids beeping, talking to each other. That’s funny, she could have swore they were saying…. Out the window. Yes, yes. Out the window
Wait–
She reached for her sapphire blade that was secured along her thigh, hidden from sight with her dress skirt, before rounding the corner, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of what she saw.
In the corner of the room sitting in a chair, clutching his chest was a man she had not seen before. He looked as if he were struggling to catch his breath. On the other side of the room, two droids and the man she saw in the dance room, were in the process of lifting up a suspiciously Uji sized man, being immobilized in an electrical restraining device. They were trying to sneak him out the window?
No!
She flung her blade, aimed directly at the man’s leg, anchoring itself in his thigh. She took off running towards the droids as the man hobbled back, howling in pain. Her blade was coated in a fast-acting neurotoxin, which caused tingling and numbing, but worked its way up to paralyzing the limbs.
Just then screams erupted in the gala outside. Crik. The need for stealth was long gone now. She donned her blaster which was stored next to the blade, attached snugly on her thigh. She’d worry about flashing far too much skin according to her standards, later.
The droids still progressed, lifting Uji up and nearly half way out the window.
“Stop,” she said. The droids pressed on, ever working towards their intended goal. She shot. Hitting each of the droid’s presumed “brain” and power source, the head. They stumbled back, beeps, whirs, noises, and sparks erupted from the droids now missing a major chunk. Uji, stiff as a board, still immobilized, teetered on the edge of the window.
For what felt like years, was only milliseconds, as he teetered, and his weight shifted. In the room, out the window, in the room, out the window. She kicked it into high gear, running like her life depended on it, towards the immobilized Uji.
This is going to hurt. She told herself, but her added weight would ensure he stayed in the room. She grabbed his feet, pulling in with all her might as frigid ice filled her veins. Squeaks and groans were audible as she endured, successfully pulling him in the room before letting go.
She looked at the contraption, how the crik does she turn it off? Oh she really wished Vox, her droid, were here. There’s gotta be a button somewhere right?
She found what seemed to be the “control” box on the electrical restraining device, and felt around with her fingers, finding a small switch on the bottom. She flicked it in the other direction, and the noisy restraints turned off, and the room was much quieter, like a weight on her ears was removed. Uji gasped, and his body went slack. The room was quiet… Too quiet.
She looked up, and the man was still clutching his chest, but his breathing had calmed more. In his other hand, he held a blaster pointed right at them. The man that she had hit with the sapphire blade, had also quieted. Grasping his leg tightly, but he had worked the blade free. Pinching the blade tip between his bloodied fingers, ready to flick.
Now would be a great time for some back up.
“Show off,” Turel muttered to himself as he dashed across the room dodging flying bits of crushed droid parts. An ice chill shot through the Jedi Master’s veins as Thane’s raw display of power disrupted the flow of the Force in the immediate vicinity like a tsunami. Turel suddenly felt immensely grateful to have the Deputy Grand Master on his side.
A second wave of droids rushed into the ballroom as the Sentinel desperately tried to reach his incapacitated friend and back up his Allusis teammate. Thane’s tempest within the Force made it difficult to sense but Turel made out a sharp sense of fear in Esen’s surface thoughts. He shifted his focus toward Thane and managed to send “I’ve got Uji” into his mind. He caught the Firrerro’s gaze for a split second and got the briefest of head nods toward the room where the Fist had been taken.
Taking his cue from Thane, who had the droid situation well in hand, Turel hopped over debris and injured guests to reach the doorway of the side room Esen and Uji were in. As the Jedi burst through the threshold into the side room he saw his medic teammate crouched over a stunned but now unrestrained Fist. Two assailants were also in the room with their focus on Esen, one brandishing a sapphire blade and the other sitting in a chair with a blaster aimed at the young Zeltron.
Judging the blaster wielding gentleman to be the more significant threat Turel extended his hand, focused on the blaster itself and jerked it out of the sitting man’s hand with a sharp telekinetic pull. The weapon flew across the room and into the Odanite’s waiting hand. Turel then spun toward the blade-wielding man and extended his free hand toward him, palm facing out.
“STOP” the Jedi Master commanded with an unnerving Force-enhanced echo as the blade-wielder froze in place, seemingly unable to move. It took his full concentration to hold the assailant in a state of stasis but he repositioned himself to keep his free hand pointing the blaster pistol at the seated man.
“Is Uji alright?” Turel asked his teammate.
“I will be fine, though I have… several questions for our friend here,” Uji growled as he forced himself into a sitting position beside Esen.
The look of unease on the agents’ faces brought some measure of joy to Uji, though not enough to quell the intense anger boiling beneath the surface. They had come far too close to capturing him, and the thought filled him with embarrassment and frustration, that they would dare target him directly with such deception. Esen instinctively moved away from the Elder as the air around him grew charged.
“Uji, I got thi—” was as far as Turel got before crackling lightning filled the space between Uji and the still-standing assailant. Violet light burst from Uji’s fingertips, sending the paralyzed man into convulsions, his voice rising in pain, nearly anguish, as Uji unleashed his pent-up emotions as pure torment through the Force.
Turel stepped back in surprise, having never seen Uji exert power so openly. The man crumpled to the ground as Uji released his hold, the lightning fading moments later. Turel kept his blaster trained on Cato even as he gritted his teeth, wanting to chastise the Councilor but recognizing that Uji’s wrath could very easily turn on him.
Uji stood, sensing the hesitation and confusion from both Turel and Esen. His anger still simmered as he turned to Cato, gazing down at the man. He stooped to pick up his cane, his fingers curling around the worn shaft as he considered Cato in silence.
“That is enough, Uji.”
Thane’s voice cut through the quiet, forcing Uji to take a deep breath. He set the cane down to bear his weight once more, his demeanor shifting to hide the emotions roiling beneath.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Esen said, her voice no longer filled with apprehension but instead laced with sadness as she looked down at the burned and smoking body lying a few feet away. Her eyes shifted to Uji’s hands, still smoldering against the wood grain of his cane.
“Perhaps not,” Uji replied coldly.
Thane stepped between them, his shadow falling across Uji before he turned to Turel and Esen.
“Collect him. We are leaving.”
He paused.
“Good work.”
Together, the group left, the two Odanites sharing a look as they escorted the prisoner, while the two Councilors walked a few paces ahead.