Planet Makeb, Mid Rim T'falsar City Mesa
T'falsar city rumbled underfoot with the constant movement or ships, people, speeders and cargo. A brisk wind carried on it the sounds of tuneless music just as much as it caried the thunder of retro thrusters. It smelled of Shisha smoke and machine oil, and breathed with life and energy. Despite Makeb’s centuries-old depleted mines of Isotope-5, it seemed to hold onto life like a caged animal hoping for a chance at escape.
The Hutt’s never let it out of their grasp, and used it now for other lucrative endeavors. Makeb had become a crossroads for many smuggling routes, its many mesas housing a multitude of hidden stashes, clandestine bases, covert scrap yards and star ports. T'falsar was no different than the rest of the planet, it was just more. More people, more infrastructure, more credits.
Still, despite their iron grip, the Hutts couldn’t prevent other Syndicates muscling in and carving their own little sectors and mesas. The northern section of the T'falsar mesa was just that sort of place: a small part of home carved out by the Shroud Syndicate for their own use. A personal kingdom or refuge for anyone on their payroll. It consisted of a multitude of habitation towers, open squares, casinos, cantinas, landing pads, and offices for the more legitimate front companies the Shroud used to wrangle those freelancers not keen on muddying their records with the criminal element.
Sprawled across multiple levels, this small sector allowed from much independence on the surface of Makeb and beyond. Well trained guards with Shroud armor and regalia — usually poached from Arx’s washed-out recruits — kept the peace at the beck of a long durasteel stick. Gang violence was usually covert on Makeb, but it did happen. One had to defend himself…and his property.
Morgan breathed natural, non-recycled, brisk air for the first time in months. A gust of wind billowed the curtains in the office she claimed for herself from the planet’s Underboss, Chao Fa. The aging Togorian gladly acquiesced, the suck-up, even offering his personal liquor cabinet — as if he ever had a choice in the matter, or that his non-decision would ingratiate him somehow. No, in truth Makeb was slowly dying and the Shroud’s operation on it alongside. Yields were dwindling and so was investment. Even the Hutt’s were pulling out more and more, otherwise the Shroud wouldn’t have been able to carve such a big chunk of T'falsar as easily.
Still, that wasn’t why she was here, or at least not entirely. She was here for a more recent discovery that came about through some illegal excavations. Unbeknownst to the excavators, several Sith artifacts were discovered and brought to Chao Fa hoping to get a good deal for artistic stuff. He was smart enough to get rid of them and contact Morgan immediately, luckily for him.
She turned to face the large conference table where the artifacts had been suspended in containment fields and miniaturized ray shields, supposedly for protection. The tone Chao Fa explained the situation in intrigued Morgan. He clearly had no idea what the things were, but knew they held some great importance, and wealth. A damaged tablet written in a version of Sith Morgan couldn’t decipher; an ancient phrik alloy gauntlet with similar etchings and fragments of kyber in embedded in it; what looked to be part of a voulge-like weapon head made in a similar fashion. Intriguingly the weapon was still sharp. Chao Fa had cut himself on the edge when he inspected the weapon. There was a circular device that looked like nothing Morgan recognized, and the last part was a lightsaber hilt, or something that resembled one, cut perfectly in half as if by a mono-filament edge. It was of Jedi design, not Sith.
The rumble of repulsorlifts caught her attention as she looked out of the window at the shuttles arriving. Her guests were in motion, arriving in groups or individually. She had summoned those four primarily for their knowledge and expertise in such matters, but also because she trusted that they wouldn’t back stab her. At least not immediately. One could hope. She reached for a fresh bottle and poured herself another confidence booster. This would be interesting.
The trip from Arx had been uneventful aside from a few extra jumps and one ship transfer to obscure their hyperspace route. Turel had insisted on taking the Vaatu, a retrofit pirate corsair ostentatiously owned by a small mercenary company, instead of the Brotherhood vessels he now had access to. Even though the meeting location was in a Shroud-controlled building, it was still in Hutt territory. It was probably best not to openly ‘fly the colors’ in a Brotherhood ship.
Thankfully, Alethia shared Turel’s preference for discrete travel. The round-trip had given the new Headmaster and outgoing Headmistress a chance to talk shop away from the countless ears that lurked around every corner on Arx. The Jedi Master couldn’t help but feel Alethia was throwing him into the targon’s den by setting him up as her replacement on the council. He may not have been thrilled about it but he knew the importance of keeping an Odanite on the Brotherhood council. Besides, it let him stay relatively close to Morgan and watch Uji’s back.
Makeb had a certain beauty to it and the streets of T'falsar City had enough hustle and bustle to make the Nar Shaddaa native feel right at home. Turel fiddled with the Collegium gear he had brought for this excursion as he and Alethia approached the meeting location.
Turel breathed deep of the street air, “ahhh smells like desperation and engine grease.”
<@371402534973341696>
Darth Renatus sat in the darkness of the shuttle interior. That’s the way he usually had it. He chuckled to himself as he quietly recalled the number of times he’d been scolded as a kid for not using any lights.
Why use what you didn’t need?
Twin black-gold orbs shined in the sputtering rays from outside as the rumble of gravity and atmosphere played upon the vehicle’s frame. The planet Makeb. What did he know about it? Not a hell of a lot. What did he know about it? He was going to find that out. There weren’t very many people remaining in the galaxy that could send him a ‘summons’ for all intents and purposes, and fewer still he would willingly comply with. But it had been Morgan. He hadn’t seen much of her since their time on the Council together and he didn’t see much reason to pass up the opportunity now. Besides, he had missed her. The scathing banter was one of his hobbies. Too few were willing to play the game. At least not without taking actual offense.
A powerful burst of breath shot past his lips and Renatus leaned back just as the shuttle touched down. With his eyes closed, the shadows around him were cleaved in two by the access ramp hissing open, then drawing down the rest of the way to fully immerse him in light. He opened a single, squinting eye and met the offending opening with distaste. Then, he made short work of a long trip, heading towards the meeting place.
“That sounds about right,” Alethia said. “I haven’t been to Makeb since my early ISB days. I doubt that it’s changed.” She took in the skyline from the landing pad for a moment. “No, I don’t think it’s changed since well before that.”
“What do you think the over/under is on Morgan bringing us here for a collection of fakes?” Turel inquired with a grin as the pair continued down the busy street.
“Besides her nails and handbag?” Alethia grinned back, enjoying a moment of levity before she turned more serious. “I don’t think Morgan would risk face if she weren’t certain about these, but then I don’t have as good a read on her as I once did. She’s changed.”
Uji walked through the corridor approaching the offices claimed by the Herald. The guardsmen he had brought with him were firmly but politely stopped by the associates of the Shroud Syndicate at the entrance. He now walked alongside a member of Morgan’s staff, apparently assigned to ensure his safe passage. The arrangement brought a faint smile to his face, as he held little trust for the Syndicate or their leader.
However, if Morgan’s message was to be believed, there was no organization better suited to the dispersal or sale of the items she had acquired. As he continued forward, he allowed himself the small relief of placing more of his weight on his cane, even as he carried a small box under his other arm. It had already been scanned for any potential threats. He came to a halt as the attendant approached a doorway and knocked, and Uji picked up on the intricacy of the rhyme and code that clearly informed those inside of his arrival.
After a moment, a voice from within told them to enter. The attendant opened the door, stepped aside, and allowed him to proceed. Once inside, Uji took in the conference table, the containment field, and the artifacts displayed within it. His eyes swept the room before settling on the woman waiting for him.
Morgan stood on the opposite end of the table, a drink in hand, one eyebrow raised as she regarded him and took a slow sip. The two faced each other from across the room, and Uji almost regretted being the first to arrive, though he prided himself on punctuality.
He suspected the others were not far behind and chose to address his assignment first. Making his way around the table, he offered Morgan a small nod.
“Sorenn.”
A simple greeting, met with a slight tilt of Morgan’s head.
He extended the box, decorated in garish, almost offensively bright wrapping paper, with a handwritten note on the front covered by a multi-hued butterfly.
“The girls asked that I deliver this personally. They asked that I convey their best wishes and their hope to see you soon enough. I had no desire to interrupt our business today, therefore I ask that you open it at another time.”
Morgan’s fingertips brushed lightly over the butterfly, leaving sparkly glitter on them. Her cheek twitched up, a nearly invisible micro expression of…Annoyance? Disgust? Or perhaps it was a suppressed smile? It was hard to tell. “Send them my best,” she replied in an even tone. “You don’t have to worry. I don’t plan on visiting.” She stood as she picked up the present and placed it under the nearby bar for later inspection.
She took off her long coat and hung it on one of the hangers on the wall. Underneath she wore nothing but a sleeveless shirt, sturdy trousers, well-worn boots, and a thick multi-colored sash held in place with a military belt — her E-851 blaster strapped into it along with her saber and a pair of gloves. She adjusted her eyepatch and ruffled her salt and pepper hair. “I’d love to get to business immediately, but we’ll have to wait for the others. In the meantime, do you want a drink?” She reached for the bottles and glasses.
“Changed. Yeah.” Turel trailed off as the pair entered the building where the meeting was to take place. For all he had accomplished becoming a Jedi Master, regaining a seat on the Odan-Urr council and now all the trappings that came with Headmaster, Turel felt powerless as he watched Morgan descend into a far darker place than he could have imagined. They hadn’t actually spoken in some time, not really. Morgan had called in via holo for the one council meeting on Arx Turel had managed to attend. From what he could gather she was somewhat better or at least more stable. He brought his collegium tools, he’d do his job as Headmaster and authenticate and catalog whatever Morgan had found, but the real reason he jumped at this invitation was to see his sister, face to face.
Alethia did the talking at the front desk while Turel was lost in thought. They were expected. He forced himself to focus on the present. As soon as they were out of earshy of Chao Fa’s majordomo the Sentinel whispered, “security is a bit lax. No scans, no ID checks, nothing.”
<@371402534973341696>
There was an old joke among bartenders that if you wanted something shaken instead of how it was normally prepared, you ordered it Makeb-style. The bartenders on Makeb, Erinyes had quickly discovered, didn’t appreciate that joke. They did, however, make some excellent shaken drinks.
Unlike other visitors to this conference, it was the Emissary’s job to fly the Brotherhood flag, and to do it in style—but a career among starfighter pilots had left Erinyes unable to travel on a ship that couldn’t handle itself in a fight. The Proselyte was a step up over the older Kalevala-class yacht in that regard. Erinyes left the full entourage on the ship, however, continuing to the meeting with only herself. If someone tried to ambush them… well, the ambushers were morons.
As she approached the front desk, she saw two familiar backs. “Hey, you two!” Erinyes waved at the former Headmistress and current Headmaster.
<@371402534973341696>
“Gladly,” Uji replied, moving to a nearby chair and resting a hand on its back. The moment he shifted his weight, he felt the ripple of familiar presences entering the building, distinct signatures in the Force he could identify without effort.
He set his cane against the table and eased into the chair with practiced control. Even Morgan’s single eye couldn’t miss the strain threading through his movements. Her spies had already reported the toll his recent schedule was taking. He had pushed himself hard to continue the rebuilding of the Grand Master’s Royal Guard, and the price of constant travel and impossible hours was becoming more apparent.
He accepted the offered glass, the faint scent of Corellian whiskey drawing a brief, tired smile from him before he took a sip. If Morgan intended to poison him, she would choose a time when neither Turel nor Thane were likely to walk in and complicate the narrative.
Alethia smiled as Serendipity “Erinyes” Ténama illustrated her point before she could even make it. “You’ll find the Council defaults to informal recognition. You’ll also find I have discouraged that at the Academy and the Collegium.”
She turned to greet the Zeltron catching up to them. “Madame Emissary, you look radiant as always. How have you been?”
<@185939710005215232> <@645466919415054357>
Morgan poured herself some fresh Storm-Tossed — a selection of which she already had in every safehouse in every territory the Shroud owned — clinked their glasses together and sat down on the opposite chair. “Your health,” she said, for once sincerely, and took a sip. “So what happened with…” she motioned nonchalantly towards his leg.
<@272527052396298242>
“Failed assassination attempt years ago. It’s amazing what the Force can do for healing when you give it time. Unfortunately, I was younger then, more impetuous, and my pride got in the way. A few years of forcing your body to do something it should not eventually leads to a breaking point.”
A low tremor rolled through the building as the mesa shifted beneath them, the planet groaning under years of strain. Uji steadied his glass, feeling a faint kinship with a world that had been pushed past its limits. He gestured to the cane with his free hand.
“And this is my reward for placing service first,” he finished with a wry smile.
Morgan chuckled into her glass. “You and I should have switched places. I’d still have my eye, and you wouldn’t have a limp.” She unintentionally brushed her finger on her eyepatch as she downed the glass. “Funny how the galaxy kriffs us, eh?” She poured another. “Still, you’re in one piece, you’re breathing, and you can hold your own. Knowing the Tameike family, that counts for a lot.”
Uji tipped his glass back and finished it with only a slight grimace at the burn, waving off Morgan’s attempt to refill it.
“Knowing who you have invited, I will need to keep my head for the next few hours,” he explained.
“I am curious, however. What exactly do you imagine I can contribute to this endeavor? These items you have acquired look as if they belong in a museum. I am certain our new Headmaster would be more than happy to take them off your hands.”
Uji shifted the conversation deliberately, watching for even the smallest reaction to the mention of Morgan’s family, who would be arriving shortly.
“Blockhead? Yeah, I guess he’ll be interested,” she pointed at the far end of the table, “especially in that little Jedi trinket down there.” She turned her focus back on Uji as she relaxed in her chair. “You, on the other hand, might be interested in the weapons, what with the Royal Guard and all. Besides, I don’t know ancient Sith from Gamorrean. May be you can read some of it.”
Thane’s hurried (yet measured) approach brought him from the landing pad and into arrival processing. An experience he wasn’t much a fan of. There’s no need to bore anyone with how that went down. Unless, of course, you were into the marvels of bureaucracy, paperwork, and scripted conversations. That is to say, boring.
Moving to decidedly non-boring pastures, Thane found himself approaching the front desk, where familiar presences had begun to gather.
“Doing well, thank you, Alethia. Congratulations on your re-found freedom.” Then, she turned to the new Headmaster, a surprisingly familiar face. “Turel! Good to see you again. How have you been since we met on Kiast?”
<@185939710005215232>
“Oh I’ve kept busy,” he gestured to the collegium tools he was carrying, “It’s good to see you again as well, your presence is always so uplifting among these sourpusses on the council”
“Darth Renatus,” Alethia called out as one of the sourpusses in question approached. “Don’t tell me we’ve left the Grand Master unattended with Howlader.” <@185936112441622529>
Renatus paused a moment and raised an eyebrow towards Alethia. Then he tilted his head as if to ponder. “Non-zero chance.”
“Likewise. It’s nice to see someone who knows how to have fun. Luckily, I brought social lubricant,” she said, gesturing to a trailing repulsorcart that was undoubtedly full of booze and snacks.
Once Alethia’s back was turned, Erinyes pointed at her for Turel, then silently made a sour expression and drew whiskers across her face with her index and middle fingers.
“I have to say, it’s gotten a lot more interesting lately. Now we have a pirate queen and a gambler in addition to the neighbourhood drunk. The balance of fun is shifting.”
Renatus sighed, glancing around the area.
“Meetings usually do not occur in the lobby.”
His black-gold gaze flit from face to face, then stared pointedly at the receptionist.
A cough echoed from a nearby hallway leading to the upper levels of the administrative building. It drew everyone’s attention. A gallantly dressed Duros with graying green skin and piercing and calculating eyes looked at the gathering in the reception. He wore a red robe with gold inlay, simple shined leather shoes, and comfortable trousers. The satchel on his belt held only a small datapad and communicator. The receptionist stood up but before she could say a word, his hand was up to stop her. The gesture made her sit and she continued her work.
“Lord Renatus,” he bowed to Thane first, but followed with each of them in turn, “Madam Emissary. Headmaster. Moff. My name is Iden Sult. I am the Commodore’s adjutant and majordomo. Allow me to expedite your arrival and announce you the proper way.” His expression, body language and attitude betrayed nothing but the utmost respect and diligence to protocol and etiquette. He bowed deeply once more and pointed toward the hallway. “Please in you will, follow me.” Without a word to spare, he walked formally towards the upper floor.
Uji and Morgan had stopped talking just as the door to the office chimed. “Enter,” Morgan called, leaned into her chair and gave the door a glance. Sult walked in with all his formality and bowed. “Commodore, your guests have arrived. May I present…”
“You can stop with the formalities, Sult.” She waved him off and saw his eye twitch in micro-expression. “Just let them in.”
Taking Morgan’s cue, Turel stepped out from behind Iden Sult with a showy gesture, “Is this where the cool kids hang out?”
There were a million things the Jedi wanted to say to his sister and almost as many questions. He was relieved to see her in person but anxious at the same time. Morgan wouldn’t have called half the council to this remote location if it wasn’t something serious. So many emotions, so many things to say, and all he managed to let out was a lame joke that everyone saw through.
His eyes met Uji’s, and the pair exchanged the briefest of head nods in acknowledgment. “Good to see you brother.”
“I think I’ll invoke imperial relic privilege here, Headmaster,” Alethia added from over his shoulder, “to say that everyone here is at least a decade removed from being a cool kid. The Academy’s initiates will beat that realization into you.”
“You look good for a relic,” Morgan jabbed at Alethia as the former Headmaster entered. “And you,” she pointed at Turel with amusement, “look silly in that outfuit. Pretending to be a criminal now?” The jab was deliberate, but not mean spirited.
As Erinyes and Thane entered she raised her glass to both and winked at Erin. “Took you long enough to get here. Did Thane bore you with farming methods?”
“I thought we were all pretending we didn’t read that,” Alethia said.
“He did, but I needed to catch up on my sleep anyway,” the Emissary quipped as she returned Morgan’s wink. In truth, she had been burning the midnight coaxium lately, jetting from one side of the galaxy to the other to extend the Brotherhood’s reach as part of Dacien’s grand plan to… something.
When she saw Morgan and Turel standing beside each other, and heard the chatter between them, realisation dawned on her face. Sorenn. Sorenn.
Oh.
Huh.
Uji stood as the others entered, offering a small, respectful tilt of the head or bow as appropriate to each relationship.
“It is good to see you, Brother. Our last encounter at the Gala was… interesting. I chose to trust that Morgan had no intentions of torture or kidnapping planned for us today.” The Fist allowed himself a rare smile, glancing between the two siblings as he took in the lingering tension.
As Alethia, Erinyes, and finally Thane entered, Uji eased himself back into his seat while the others chose their places around the room, exchanging their usual banter.
Turel was momentarily taken aback, pretending to be a criminal, had his street cred sunk so low? Morgan had, in the way only a sibling can, found an ego vulnerability Turel didn’t even realize he had. He had over a decade of psychic armor built up from people saying he was pretending to be a Jedi that someone suggesting the opposite, that he was some harmless poser pretending to be underworld legitimately wounded his pride. He of course knew better than to show that it bothered him.
“No Morgan, this is pretending to be a criminal,” The Sentinel Master waved his arm in front of his face with a slow gesture leaving in its wake the visage of a much older man with an eye patch, rotting teeth and a scraggly gray beard. At the end of the gesture his hand had taken on the form of a hook which Turel pointed at Morgan, “Ye best start believing in pirate tales Miss Morgan,” he paused for dramatic effect with his altered voice, “yer in one….YAAAR”. He held the hook pointing gesture for a few moments as half the room collectively groaned or rolled their eyes. Finally he let the illusion lapse with a dramatic bow before rising as his normal self with a laugh.
He turned to respond to Uji, “After reading scholarly reports for a few days, I’d almost take a good kidnapping to spice things up.” <@272527052396298242>
She noticed Turel’s reaction, or lack there off. He couldn’t hide a lot from her after all, but she didn’t tease back. “Very cute.” Amusement spread across her face.
“You know, kidnapping isn’t my style, right,” Morgan replied in jest as she turned to Uji.
Renatus’ eyes narrowed—which, to be fair, was a frequent event in this specific company—as he took in all the conversation swirling around him. Notably Alethia’s remark. “Farming ensures survival,” he muttered even if his lilt tried to make it louder. “Respect it.”
Erinyes resisted a snort at Turel’s display, and as usual for this kind of gathering, began to unload the floating container she had brought. Six glasses, whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, fancy bespoke cherry whiskey—stars, there were a lot of whiskey drinkers here—tsiraki, and… whatever Alethia drank.
<@371402534973341696>
With the drinks served, Erinyes began inspecting the artifacts collected on the table. Her study of mixology had been an unlikely path into Sith alchemy and sorcery, but she’d learned quite a bit along the way.
“Maybe we should have the Clans compete for these. You know, old-school.”
“Why would the Clans have any say, or right, to earn them? They have enough to squabble over as it is.” Uji spoke without condescension, but with quiet reproach, his disdain for the Clans’ behavior unmistakable.
He finished the drink Morgan had previously poured for him, declining a second with a brief gesture.
“I do not mean to be callous, but the Council’s focus must remain on the conflicts already underway. What use, if any, could these treasures serve toward that purpose?”
Morgan nonchalantly passed between all of them, emphasizing the artifacts one by one. “There’s a certain kind of fun to Erin’s idea.” Mischief glimmered in her eye. “But no, I think Uji’s right. Until I know what these are, they’re not leaving this circle. You’re all here based on certain skills: either knowing the language and runes, alchemy, or Sith artifacts specifically. If they’re useful, I don’t mind leaving them in Thane’s care,” she turned to the Deputy Grand Master. “You can delegate.” A mild, sarcastic jab at a man she respected and made regular fun off, especially knowing his position rather well.
“If they’re not, I like credits far more than dusty garbage. Speaking of dusty garbage.” She approached Turel, pinched his jacket between her fingers and grimaced. “You know, I have a good tailor. I can introduce you. Half of my Underbosses have better stuff.” He lightly punched his chest so only he saw. A feeling of relief and affirmation passed between them, a sort of It’s good to see you expression through the Force.
“Well, let’s see what we have, then.” With drink in hand and an appropriately scholarly expression on her face—she had been a Shadow Academy staffer once, after all—Erinyes began examining the assembled artifacts. It was all, as one absent member of the Council would declare, very Krathy.
Renatus sighed, letting the mask off a little and turned to glance towards the others as Thane. “I do not mind the excuse for drink with…friends…but I must insist whatever you have better be worth the energy.”
“He called us friends! That’s unsettling,” Erinyes quipped. Her gaze paused over a stone wheel mounted on a short rod, like one of the gadgets people used to torture themselves for abdominal workouts, rather than torturing others into abdominal workouts with Force Lightning like a normal person.
“This looks like a sharpening wheel for Sith swords. I know that sounds mundane, but remember that sharpening involves shaving small pieces of a material away. If this can be replicated, it could be a step up over our existing alchemical metallurgy.”
“I met someone recently with a blade that can cut through durasteel if you put your hips into,” Alethia said, not looking up from some sort of variant holocron on the table. “The credit-chit grindstone wouldn’t do much for the edge.”
Morgan shrugged as if to say so can a cheap plasma torch but said nothing of the like. Swords seemed silly to her, but she knew they had their target audience. The very edgy types. “What about that one? That gauntlet with the kyber fragments?”
“I do not recognize the make. Not known method. Or not of our galaxy,” Thane remarked as he apraised the gauntlet. The fragments could be slotted on each finger with a larger slot on the back of hand. There were infinite possibilities as to the origin with no clues to work off.
“It looks very snappy, though. Phrik alloy. That’s pretty clear from the analysis I was given.” Morgan added. “To be honest, I have no idea if that tablet has anything to do with it, but it’s written in the same script, that much I can tell.”