Arliss Towers - Muunilinst


His hand slipped around her neck and she felt the cool touch of a thin string of metal play across her skin.


“Stand still,” he had growled in slight annoyance as she held back (quite unsuccessfully) her impatience at wanting to glance in a nearby mirror. She felt the coolness of the metal travel around her neck and upon her chest sat something of substance.


“What is it?” she asked, inwardly amused that such baubles would affect her as much as this one was.


“There!” the man said with satisfaction and she moved quickly in front of a mirror to gaze at the necklace.


And as her fingers moved closer to caress the object the tiny metal heart shape felt like it was electric to the touch and it startled her.


The heart shaped necklace began to shimmer and change metallic colors as her face registered as many emotions before settling with delighted curiosity.

She turned to the man behind her, questions in her eyes. “How?”


The man smiled taking her shoulders into his hands. “It is a very rare metal, found on a planet outside the Empire’s Hegemony. I can assure you, my lady that this little treasure is one of a kind."


Jenice glowed with pleasure as the man radiated a very powerful presence. The celebration they were attending that evening was in response to her acceptance of the man's wedding proposal.

Her father and his trusty CFO were sure to be on hand to take Garrett's measure as the newest addition to the Arliss household.

She was sure that Garrett and her father would engage in some turf wars and was secretly excited to see it.


"We'd better be off.." he said absently drawing her out of her reverie.


Garrett put his hand on the small of her back and led the leader of Arliss Towers out of the private quarters through the line of stationed security and towards their personal shuttle platform.

Muunilinst Planetarium Gardens


"If your daughter wanted a good screw, Sir, there are much more discreet.."


"Somehow, I do not think that the novelty of the anonymous screw would be appreciated much by my daughter, Vicktor." the Patriarch of Arliss Industries interrupted as he watched his daughter's entrance, being led by a rather tall and older man. "It's the Groom-to-be that I am curious about. If she's being stupid over this affair, which women do tend to allow at times, his person stands to come into control over quite a business concern."


"Seamus, the impending wedding is raising stock. If you want me to arrange for an accident I can. But let's dump the stock first and make a killing." The CFO, Vicktor Conrad, snapped his fingers. "Actually, if an accident happened to both, ownership of the towers would fall to you! The company would no longer be split.."

Seamus shook his head. "Arliss had outgrown and outpaced our wildest imaginations. We could merge the companies but we stand to gain more with them separate than together."

Mr. Conrad exhaled and reached out grabbing a drink off a passing waiter holding a tray.


"Gash Jiren is dead." he mentioned between sips.


"Who?" Seamus turned from viewing his daughter's entrance as she was greeting those patrons nearby and cast an irritated look to Vicktor.


"Gash Jiren. Rebel Jedi.. no! Rogue Jedi."


"So?" Seamus continued looking for some significance that affected him. "Jedi die every day."


"Ossus, Sir. As in Textiles. There is a funeral scheduled later this week."


Seamus' eyebrows rose. "Then the ban may be lifted? That IS interesting news. Have the Greed's Hammer plot a course to Ossus as soon as we are done here. It might do us good to be on hand."


Seamus turned his attention back to his daughter and wondered for the 100th time if she were making a critical mistake that would end up costing her her life.

Today, it was a garden.

Nothing spectacular, no poetic rubbish describing vibrant colours or small woodland creatures rustling in the bush. It was a garden. There was quite a lot of green. Things grew here, presumably. The only thing that could possibly be considered mysterious was a small, ornamental gnome making a very rude gesture.

It was at times like these that - if he was really allowed the time to think, of course - Silus would remark quietly to himself that whoever designed these dreams was completely mental and owed him many a good nights sleep.

Unfortunately no opportunity presented itself because Silus was far too distracted by the small table in the middle of the garden. Or, to be more specific, the woman sitting quietly at the table, tea cup in hand.

"Hello, mother," Silus said. The woman glanced up at him and smiled.

"Come, sit," she gestured to the empty seat in front of her.

"So who are you really this time? You're really me, or a part of me. Or, maybe, this time your some sort of vision of the Force. Here to warn me again?"

His mother sniffed, although he could have sworn there were faint outlines of a smirk at the corner of her lips. Her hair was pulled back, falling down her back in a long tail. He couldn't help but notice it was the same colour black as his own. And her eyes were very familiar.

"Today I'm here to talk about choices, Silus," she said. Silus snorted but didn't speak up. He was growing familiar with the occasional meeting wit the apparition that resembled his mother.

He had never really known what his mother looked like, until that fateful encounter with the Sha'ta'lusk, and ever since that battle with the Dark Jedi Zarko she had appeared to him in something resembling visions. At first, she had been remnants of his own mind, shattered after an encounter with the Dark Side that had eventually led him down the path of the Sith. The pieces had formed together over time like a badly made jigsaw puzzle, until finally he had fought with himself for control over his own body and had nearly destroyed himself in the process. Only by chance had he been able to repair the damage.

She had appeared to him in a vision, then, his own self disguised in a face and body he hardly knew. After the events and his turn to the Jedi, she had disappeared.

It wasn't until his battle with Zarko, during which he had been temporarily haunted by the ghost of the Jedi Knight Zark Ekan, that she slowly began to manifest herself again. Silus was beginning to think he was going insane again.

"Do you remember the Sith, Silus?"

"Every time I close my eyes," he replied. There was no emotion in it; it was mere statement of fact.

"You could have been great."

"I could have been dead."

"Perhaps, but even so you could have been great. Your master felt there was much potential in you. You could have had everything."

Silus shrugged, "I've never wanted anything."

His mother seemed to think on this for a moment and then nodded. "No. I don't suppose you have. You would have been great. The Dark Side is in your blood; quite a few of your ancestors had flirted with the Dark Side. They all died painfully, of course. As did those who followed the light."

He had no idea who his family actually was. In some ways, he didn't really care.

She took another sip from her tea, "And now their Force sensitivity has passed on to you, and with it the same burden that rested on their shoulders. I can't help but wonder what you'll do with it.'' She smiled.

"Soon you are going to be given a choice, Silus. I wonder if you'll make the right decision?"


The dream faded away just as quickly as it had come, and disappeared from memory.

Her emerald eyes moved from the forest before her to the never-ending starry celestial body above. The expanse of the heavens reached farther then her eyes could see….and of course beyond. A thousand thoughts poured from her subconscious as she spotted Gaarak just beyond the tree line. The vornskr had been by her side for only a few years, but he had become a very important part of her life, especially in the evenings.

Her reverie was broken as a murder of crow-like birds took flight. A frightening shriek filled the air as the birds took to the air. A cruel smile drew across Dehoir’s face as she realized that Gaarak had finally caught his dinner. The smile faded quickly as her mind wandered to a time years before.

Drawing in a deep breath…. the sweet smell of the forest upon the waft of air…Dehoir sighed; a soft exhale as her beautiful jade orbs closed. The wanderings in her mind brought forth a near sacred memory to her....





….. “My name is Markef Thrakin. But you, Dehoir, may call me Master.” He stood before her in her doorway. He was old. A mane of silver hair topped his head, and he wore the robes of a Force user. His eyes rested upon her form with understanding, but she saw them as dull blue pools, listless and ancient. His hands were withered and wrinkled, but they were strangely strong, still full of life. Her eyes roamed the elderly gentleman’s form; they came to a stop as she made eye contact. She felt drawn to him…but…how?

Her lips parted as she studied his face. “How…..how do you know my name?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she heard his response,

“I shall answer all of your questions as soon as you let me in, child. The sun is setting and, as you know, the less than exemplary usually stalk the night.”

Dehoir beckoned him entrance. Closing the door and locking it behind Markef, she moved past him and into the small kitchen area. “I’m sorry I’ve nothing to offer but water. I’m low on credits and…well, frankly, I haven’t had time to go out and get anything substantial.” Glass in hand she gestured to the old man. He smiled warmly and nodded in turn.

She carefully made her way to a seat opposite his and handed him his drink. Lips pursed, Dehoir couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow…in some way…she knew him.

“You told me you’d answer my question….so? How do you know my name?”

He let loose a slight chuckle as he settled back in his chair. Markef sipped the drink as his chuckle subsided. Once calmed he drew a much more serious feature, and began to speak.

“I know your name because I have already met you, child.”

Dehoir’s eyes grew wide, her mouth agape; she nearly became incensed as she spoke.

“I’ve never seen you before in my life, old man! How could we have ever met?!”

“We have met, Dehoir, on another plane of existence.” He placed his drink on the table that stood to the right of his chair before he continued. “In fact, you’re the one who called me here.”

“WHAT?! Called you? And how the hell did I do that?!” Dehoir shot up from her chair and gestured to her menial surroundings as she proceeded, “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not rolling in credits…hell, I can’t even afford to feed myself, let alone call some old man for help!”

“Calm yourself, Dehoir. I said I’d explain myself and I shall.”

“Good” Sitting back down in her chair, Dehoir began listening to Markef weave a tale of woe and glee….one that included him finally finding his calling: her.

A look of true astonishment played over Dehoir’s features as she sat back heavily into her chair. The story that was laid out before her seemed plausible giving her the impression that the man before her was, in fact, a Sith Knight.

“A Sith. Heh, I always thought the stories I heard about them were all just ways of scaring children. And this?….” She picked up the lightsaber, that Markef had lay on the table in the course of his story, and ignited it. The glowing crimson blade caused darkened shadows in the room to come to life. “….This is the weapon of a Sith?”

A satisfied grin drew over Markef’s visage as he watched her move the saber back and forth. “Yes. Elegant, and deadly. In fact, it reminds me of you.”

Dehoir stopped in mid swing and looked back at him; the corners of her lips curling as she made eye contact. “How so?”

“My dear, you are very….very strong in the Force. That’s how I found you….your Force aura could be felt from across the planet. It’s what drew me to you.” Placing his chin in the palm of his resting right hand, Markef continued on. “You might even rival the Skywalkers.” His far-away look melted as he came back to the here and now, “But I digress. Have you any more questions, child?”

Deactivating the lightsaber, Dehoir placed the weapon back on the table and took her seat once again. Moments went by, but her gaze never faltered. She concentrated long and hard on Markef Thrakin’s form and finally answered his question, yet her lips never moved.

Not right now…..Master.

The dull blue hue of his eyes seemed to brighten as he received her answer. He relaxed; his fingers steepled, a smile broadly plastered on his face as he responded to her telepathic answer.

“Perfect, my dear…perfect.”

slowly downward, slowly downward...

Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead.

He was dead and his face was on everything. It was grinning with the devil's crooked teeth and laughing at nothing and spitting on him with its grandiose nobility. It was sick. It made him sick.

On a shuttle from Ruusan to god knows where he had lost all direction, all knowledge of direction, all knowledge of the knowledge of direction. The sea of black sliding by just outside the viewports was peripheral. He had long since forgotten where he was going and could barely recall where he was coming from, or the so-called monumental events that had brought him there.

It was hard to look the universe in the face when its the sound of its black heart pounding echoed in your skull, caving in your head with its every whisper. Ateros couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. It was crowding out every ounce of personality he had ever possessed, drowning his mind in the incessant brutal noise pollution of the dark mechanics that run just below everything, everywhere.

The ones Xireon had spoken of. He knew they were one in the same, but knew also that this was different. Maybe Xireon had been ready. He was able to look away. Ateros -- Ateros was shown too early, was transfixed by the ugliness, staring at the car crash until his eyes began to bleed, sick to the stomach but too vain to change.

Mourning.

You could feel the mourning everywhere. But it was a sick thing, a two-faced grief that stabbed the old Jedi in the back and spat in his face. But then, the Jedi had died for an ideal that didn't exist -- for a version of the universe that clearly flew in the face of the facts. If it weren't for those facts...

Right beneath the mourning there was something else: fear.

Fear plastered on the biggest signs on Coruscant, fear in the heart of every Jedi, fear in the most casual of onlookers. Gash Jiren, the final outpost of a vision of the galaxy just on the edge of remembrance. Something people had died for. More bullshit -- bullshit, wrapped in rebellion, wrapped in self-righteousness.

There was no love in the mourning, no dignity. Gash Jiren was not just a Jedi -- he was a murderer, a divider of the Jedi Order, a man who had done both the most benevolent and most despicable things imaginable. People have short memories. It's more about what you can do for them now than what you've done to them in the past.

They loved him because he was stability. They feared his death because it would mean change. Even the most ignorant, the most detached, could feel it, sitting just on the horizon of foreseeable events: the great and terrible shadow, the menacing ghosts of ill will, a cacophony of hate and loathing and plotting and scheming ratcheting down through the ages and finally building into an unbearable crescendo. It was here.

How long did they think one man could hold back the Empire from their doorstep? Wishful thinking.

Maybe someone would want to know.

How he died.

If they were all going to be so fucking upset over it.

But then, that would all come with time. Ateros' vision shifted into alignment with his inner sight, like planets aligning. It would all become evident to them, as crystal clear as it was to him now, in time. That would come with the telling.

He recalled his destination, along with the datapad clutched in his hand.

The words were murder. The reversal of old treason in the hope it might erase the memories of his past transgressions. Legacy. Gash Jiren cared about his legacy.

Even Jedi Master's weren't exempt from the dark mechanics of the universe.

The son of one of the most famous Jedi Masters in recent memory looked down at the words before him with no emotion whatsoever. That was perhaps the only part of the situation that delighted Ateros. The parody was delicious.

"I hereby announce the dissolution of the Rogue Jedi Order..."

Silus spun around, cigarette between his smirking lips and ignited lightsaber in hand. The red blade hummed, like a swarm of bees only far more deadly.

"Right," he spoke to the apprentices in front of him, "let's try that again."

The more headstrong of the group charged forward, blue blade aiming a slash at his chest. Silus pivoted, red blade moving gracefully through the air and parrying the apprentices lightsaber. In another fluid movement the lightsaber was halved and the blue blade sputtered out uselessly.

"Get another sabre! Quickly!"

The remaining trio charged, rushing him all at once. The Jedi Knight spun on his heel and struck a nearby apprentice with a hard elbow to the back of the head. The boy grunted and stumbled forward, the remaining two charging forward again. Red blade met with blue and green, creating a thunderstorm of noise. Silus's smirk grew a little, his foot lashing out and striking an apprentice in the heel. The boy gave a cry and stumbled, giving Silus enough time to knock the lightsaber from his hand. The spinning sabre was caught in the air, both red and blue blades quickly deactivating. Two empty hilts struck the two apprentices in the chest with a loud thud.

Silus's smile faded. "You're both dead. Practice."

The Jedi Knight spun once more, red blade reactivating. The remaining apprentice and teacher circled each other, both waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Silus privately beemed; the other apprentices were going to need much more practice if they wanted to stay alive against even some of the weaker Sith. This one, however, had grasped the mechanics of the lightsaber quickly. It wasn't long before Mikail's abilities matched Vodo's. Or, Silus was almost proud to admit, that long before the apprentice matched his own.

The apprentice leapt forward, both combatant's blades spinning through the air. They slid into defensive and offensive positions almost fluidly. And while Silus's were quick and precise, made with relative ease, he noticed the added flourish in Mikail's.

"Ataru, eh? I wonder how you react when I do... this," Silus's attack quickened, moving in a blur. The apprentice's eyes widened as he tried to block the attacks.

Red blade flew through the air, spun back. Blue blade moved quickly, slashing through air...

... And then dropped. Mikail stumbled backward.

"Master Silus, your- oof!" Silus's booted foot caught Mikail in the middle, forcing the wind and end of the sentence out f him. A quick strike with the hilt of the lightsaber to the face sent the apprentice to the ground.

"And what do you call that?" The question was calm, but there was the hint of an edge to it. Silus stared coldly down at the apprentice before him.

"Master Silus..." Mikail began.

"If this were a real battle, you'd be dead by now. Is that what you want? Another Jedi to add to the list of dead?"

"Master Silus," Mikail tried again.

"Believe me, we have plenty of dead. So practice. The last thing we need is damn fool apprentices going out into the world and adding to the list. I've seen enough funerals already."

"Master Silus, your hand!" Mikail shouted. Silus, confused, glanced at the other apprentices and followed their gaze to the burnt remains of his mechanical left hand.

"Ah... oh. I see. Well, we all know the danger of practicing with live sabres." A pinky, the only figer that survived mostly intact, spun pathetically.

"Master Silus, perhaps if you went to the medical ward..."

Silus glanced up, "Hmm?"

"They could repair it," Mikail ventured.

Silus shook his head, "No, it's far too damaged for that," he added, with a sigh. "There's nothing else for it then."

There was snap-hiss as the red blade activated. Silus grited his teeth and winced. There was a metallic clang on the ground.




"And you don't think that was perhaps going a bit too far?" J'nei chided him. Silus shrugged. A droid was busy working on his replacement hand.

"It was too damaged. Saves me touble if I just get a new one."

"Well, certainly," the ancient bird-like alien glared, "but there were better ways to go about it."

"Really?"

"You could have waited until a proper medical doctor-"

"You mean the droid here?" Silus gestured to the one rebuilding the hand.

"I'm certain there are plenty of doctors out in the city who would be willing to help the Jedi."

"Ah, but you see, they're busy doing whatever it is those doctors do. So really I just saved everyone the trouble."

The droid beeped and hovered away. Silus flexed his new hand.

"See? Good as new. And not a single bit of trouble. No bothered doctors hovering around, either."

J'Nei grunted. "The least you could have done is slash it off away from the apprentices."

"Why? They'll see worse things."

J'Nei sighed. "I really wish you would stop that."

"Stop what?" Silus asked.

"You know... that. The apprentices aren't in any danger yet; there's no need for them to suddenly start thinking about death. They're far too young for that."

"They're also Jedi. We're all going to die some day, and chances are it will be a horrible, gruesome death. But if we're lucky, we'll be quick. It's better they learn this now and prepare than learn it later."

"You're making people needlessly worried, Silus, and not just your apprentices. You've been putting my staff on edge."

Silus shrugged again, "The Jedi are not invincible, no matter how powerful they are. Gash Jiren's death only proves that."

The silence in the room echoed. Both sweeper and Jedi stared at nothing until finally Silus stood to leave.

"You'll be at his funeral?"

"No. He's dead already. There's nothing I can do for him now."

"Oh? Most are going, even if just to pay their respects."

"He's dead. Saying 'I'm sorry' and 'I wish this hadn't happened' won't change that. He's dead. It happens," Silus said coldly.

He paused in the doorway. Finally, he added, "Someone needs to watch the galaxy." And then he left.

"Master Baas!"

"Master Baas, what are your comments on the death of Gash Jiren!"

"Do you have any words of comfort for the people of Ossus?"

"What do you think about the dissolution of the Rogue Jedi Order?"


Vodo silently waded through the small throng of media reporters as he exited the small shuttle that had brought him to Ossus. Silently, and deeply down, he resented having to leave the tranquil peace of Naboo for.... this.

Going to a funeral for one of the most venerated Jedi in history was one thing, but having to suffer in the glare of media cameras like some sort of Imperial politician was something else entirely.

But then again...did the Empire even have politicians? Or politics for that matter?

Somehow he doubted it.

He was a Jedi Master, not some sort of public figure. He disliked these reporters immensely for turning him into one. He wished to hold no high position, did not wish to make any speeches that would be debated upon by thousands of media outlets on scores of planets across the galaxy. He wished only to live in peace and harmony with the Force.

On Naboo.

Away from all of this.


"But... A familiar voice came from inside him, somewhere deep, "Is that the way it should be?"

"Yes.", Vodo replied instantly.

"Your view of what it means to be a Jedi is rather narrow, Apprentice.", Kahn's voice said.

"What do you mean?" He asked silently as he continued to wade through the cameras on his way to where he would stay.

"'Defenders of peace and justice'. Ring a bell?"

"As a Jedi, I am a student of the Force, nothing more." Vodo retorted.

"No. As a Jedi, you are a shield. A vibrant and brilliant shield against the approaching darkness. You are a beacon of light, of hope. And of strength.", Kahn replied in that even tone he remembered so very well from his teachings.

Vodo was hesitant, "But that is what nearly destroyed them. The darkness you refer to used that against the Jedi. And they got slaughtered."

Kahn did not back down, "But they still endure. The Jedi are still alive, albeit barely. The Great Jedi's death is not a time for sadness, but for action. It is time the Jedi rose up and retook their position in the galaxy. Their rightful and earned position."

A cameraman moved to block Vodo's path as the Master cleared the throng of reporters, and yelped as he received a sharp crack across the shins from Vodo's cane. He limped away and Vodo moved off to the building he would stay in until the funeral.

And the reporters who had bothered him moved off to one of the other arriving dignitaries, completely unaware of the changed that had just taken place inside the heart of the the Master of the Jedi.

A slight smile and her slim hand made its way over to her left side. There on her hip was the lightsaber her former master had left her when he passed on. An older design, but one that was lightweight and well balanced....Markef Thrakin often told her that the weapon was the very first weapon he had made himself. The thought of her long dead Master brought another wave of memories to her mind.

Upon another waft of fresh night air, the thick perfume of death rode in. Upon a fiery steed with hooves aflame and nostrils smoking, came the distinct smell of blood. Dehoir’s attention turned to the direction she had last spotted Gaarak. On the next wave of air current rode the sound of the vornskr’s kill cry….a sound Dehoir was familiar with.

As the night drove forward, Dehoir remembered…..she remembered one night the smell of death had covered her own aura….a time her anger and fear pushed her to the Darkside of the Force….a time Master Thrakin had saved her life by showing her how to kill……

~ * ~

Years before: Six Months after the Arrival of Markef Thrakin

……She was late. The hours before had been full…full of practice and mastery. She rushed to bathe and dry herself as her Master rested. The last thing she needed was to be berated by Antrott Bredo, her boss at the local cantina, for her tardiness. Tossing the wet towel to the floor, Dehoir swooped up her clothes and dressed. In moments she was out the door and jogging off to her degrading place of employment.

~ * ~

The night seemed to drag on, and the constant swarm of smugglers into the cantina left a less than desirable taste in Dehoir’s mouth. She glided in and out of tables in an attempt to get the drinks to the thirsty patrons as expediently as possible…for the better the service, the better the tips.

Her shift ended when Aldra showed up. The slim female that was Aldra had a mane of blond locks that cascaded down past her shoulders, and a set of downwards spiraling horns from the side of her head. In fact the young girl before Dehoir was of a race she had never seen before.

The redhead nodded a hello, handed over the final drink orders to the new arrival and moved to the locker room. From the very end of the bar Tyrlis Berik rose and made his way to the cantina’s exit….he would lie in wait for the fiery redhead to leave for home. A sadistically cruel grin played over his sickening features as he leaned against the wall.

Minutes later Dehoir had exited the front of the establishment and began moving to her own home. As she passed him, Tyrlis pushed off the wall and began following her. Her mind was wandering to her earlier teachings as her stalker closed the distance. As one last couple moved by Tyrlis made his move. He advanced on her from behind placing his right hand over her mouth and wrapping his right hand around her waist….making it easier to lift the smaller woman off her feet and moving her into a nearby alleyway.

“Heya puppet. Now I know I got somethin’ here you’ll enjoy. Hahahahahaha!”

Struggling to free herself, Dehoir was thrust against a wall thoroughly knocking the wind from her. Once she was preoccupied with catching her breath, Tyrlis threw her bodily to the ground and began tearing at her clothes. As she came back to the here and now, Dehoir began trying to scream and claw her way free. Her attacker quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries.

The move came swift and quietly, leaving Dehoir surprised and open. Struggling as best she could, she began to call to her Master through the Force. Seconds into the ordeal seemed like an eternity as her cries went unheard by the passersby. Then as quickly as it started, the attack suddenly stopped. Eyes moist form crying, neck red from Tyrlis’ tight grip, Dehoir sat up; before her floated the body of the cantina patron. From behind the floating attacker the cloaked figure of Master Thrakin stood; he had heard her plea for help and made his way to her.

Dehoir tried to stand, her clothes torn and hanging form her body, her skin slashed and bleeding.

“Child, are you alright?”

She crossed her arms across her exposed chest and moved next to her Master. Anger and hatred flowed from her like a wave. Holding the attacker in place with his Force powers, Markef removed his heavy cloak and placed it gently over her shoulders.

“I’m alright, Master, now.”

“I sense much anger in you, child. I suggest you act on it.” A cruel smile danced onto his features as he moved behind her. His voice was low and sadistic as he continued to entice her to journey further to the Darkside of the Force. “You can avenge yourself, Dehoir. Take your anger and hatred and destroy that which sought to destroy you.”

She began to grind her teeth as the thought of what the creature before her tried to do.

“There is no way that this being….this animal….could be considered….a man. Destroy him, child.”
Dehoir moved in closer to the floating muffled form of Tyrlis, her anger growing with each step.

“What you did….what you were about to do….does not warrant that I spare your life.” The stare from her emerald eyes bore into the very soul of the creature before her. Her breath became heavy as she lifted her right hand out in Tyrlis’ direction. Using her Force powers Dehoir took hold of the smuggler.

“You bitch! Let me the fuck down! You just wait….once I’m down I’m gonna fuck your brains out then slice ya up for the world ta see! NOW LET ME THE FUCK DOOOWN!”

“QUIET!” Dehoir’s fist began to clench silencing Tyrlis’ rant. “You….you tried to rape me you sick bastard!” A cold-blooded smile began to curl at the corner at her lips as she harnessed her anger. “Now for that….I’m going to kill you.”

With a silent scream Tyrlis began shaking in place as an unseen force began to work its way throughout his entire body. His head shot back as his form went rigid. The entire ordeal only lasted a few moments before Tyrlis’ body fell to the ground. Dehoir moved in closer to make sure her job was complete.

Upon a close inspection, Dehoir found that the man’s eye sockets were burnt out….smoke wafted from each dead orb, as did it from his nose and his mouth. She turned to her Master and collapsed into his arms. “How did I do Master Thrakin?”

A comforting smile met her exhausted visage.

“You did wonderfully, child….simply wonderful.”

This was the second time Markef Thrakin had saved her life….the first was when he showed up at her door. Her life, from now on, would never be the same.

The galaxy mourned the death of Gash Jiren - that is, those sections of the galaxy not in the Empire's dominion. Inside life continued as normal from the dirtiest streets of Ylesia to the most clouded skyhooks of Eriadu to the forests of Bastion -


- to the halls of Imperial High Command on Coruscant. Outside the hundred-meter long Banner of the Empire blew in the wind while on either side flew two smaller companions each at half staff - one bearing the Imperial Crest on a red field, a white cross running from end to end of the square pendant showing all that a Grand Admiral was present. The other pendant was a white Crest on a field of black while beneath a Krayt Dragon devoured symbolicly several monogrammed worlds - the Director-General of COMPNOR was also gracing the Palace with his presence.


Sporting the pristine white uniform commensurate with his deservedly lofty rank, Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria moved with deliberation, purpose in his every step. Staff officers and civilians who were unused to his presence move aside and held salutes or bows; lost in thought, the Grand Admiral did not return them. He sauntered through corridors and hall ways that he had previously not sauntered through - for until then, he had no need to.


" Grand Admiral."


Desaria turned left at the next corridor and slowed to view the statue of Vice Admiral Kleissic, an officer of the Republic Navy who had defended the Ciutric Pass for almost six days against relentless assaults. Moving on, he heard his title uttered again yet he ignored it. Again his Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Maxim called out. " Your Excellency."


Some battles can be won. Others.... Turning, Desaria looked at the tall and lean Guard officer who had served him so loyally for the better part of a half-decade.


" Admiral," the man said," you cannot delay any longer. If we continue to walk aimlessly the soldiers here will think you mad."


Baron Desaria barked a laugh but knew it was true. He was not delaying though, despite what his friend and subordinate thought - he was making a rather impatient guest wait.


Ten Minutes Later, Sixty-seven floors up


" His Excellency, Grand Admiral Telan Desaria, Baron of Raenoria." The announcement rung through the small meeting room as if it were an archais monestary, resonnating from every surface. True enough, it had been decorated and designed in the Neo-tristian* manner with large portraits, high-backed chairs, hand-carved tables, and windows concealed by thick drapes themselves lined with an intricate stritching of the finest fibres.


In strode the announcee, truely appearing as if he had stepped from one of the recruiting posters on which he had so frequently appeared - white tunic and trousers, jackboots, eqaulettes and Imperial Cross. He nodded in the direction of the masked man seated at the end of the five-meter table and his four aides. In kind he relaxed into an extravagant chair and watched his own Chief of Staff and accompanying Field Marshal, Joachim Murat of the Imperial Army.


The Grand Admiral regarded the visitors and looked into the black orbs piercing into his mind. " Director Trachta."



*Neo-Trstian = Victorian/Enlightenment Combination

Trachta sat rather calmly, all four black clad men around the table with him eyeing the Grand Admiral and those with him a little coldly. All four were ISB, Trachta was always surrounded by them, no matter when or where, no other division of COMPNOR drew Trachta's attention more than his own. Trachta's glowing red photoreceptors held Grand Admiral Telan Desaria with a piercing gaze, Trachta loathed few people more than aristocrats, only force users were above them in Trachta's mental hate list. He also wasn't fond of what the Grand Admiral had been up to in the Guard, expelling ISB agents placed there to monitor it, to ensure loyalty... The simple audacity made Trachta simmer with anger, that someone would dare interfere with his work and that of the Bureau.

"Please have a seat, Admiral," Trachta said, his voice as always metallic due to it coming from a vocabulator in his respirator.

As the Grand Admiral and those with him sat down, Trachta picked up a datapad in from of him and slid it across the table to the Grand Admiral, on it were a list of names and ranks. All of them ISB agents as well as COMPNOR officials that had been attached to the Imperial Guard.

"Would you care to explain this?"

Trachta sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking in rage at what was on their. It was a full report denoting the removal of everyone on that list from the Guard. It was obviously something that was upsetting Trachta very greatly.

"What, precisely, do you think you are doing, Admiral Desaria? The Imperial Security Bureau put those men there to monitor your units, it is standard protocol now and you know it. You also removed several COMPNOR morale officers, equally disturbing and I might add irritating."

Trachta stared across the table, letting that sink in quietly as he watched Desaria read what was on the datapad. When he looked up again, Trachta spoke.

"We are all servants of the Empire, Admiral Desaria, but you are not helping the system if you remove men from their needed positions. Would mind explaining to me exactly why you feel the need to undermine my ability to defend our Empire from traitors?