Their insistant posturing seemed to be getting them nowhere but in each other's black books.

He broke from his striding tangent and marched toward Darksword, eyeballing him.

"That . . .," He stopped short, lowering his tone in an attempt to maintain his composure, Lupercus' cockyness was irritating, "that, is none of your concern."

His intent-filled growl then settled and spread out to a more sinister grin. Lupercus eye's betrayed no intent of backing down, so he relented, instead creating a small lie to cover his true reasons for Roon, however he clouded them with as much ambiguity as he shrouded his own mind in.

"At the center of Roon, there is a chamber, barely significant, which contains a few minute artifacts. Something concerning a more personal hobby of my own."

Even shrouded with his heavy thoughts, that fib carried little weight.

"It matters not what I get out of this, what matters is that you're are recieving what you crave most, wealth and power.

Isn't that all you've been after all your life Lupercus?



Or was there something more.

"Probably."

He shrugged disinterestedly, his focus returning again to his fingernails. He held out his hand palm first, admiring their perfect cut and trim.

"And i know you're lying."

Ren bristled up in vehemence.

He didn't really know whether or not Janggar was lying, but Lupercus expected it from the Sith Master. It was simply a matter of business. Although as it stood, the Sith Protectorate would more than benefit from Roons inclusion in its borders.

And as for the other members of Council, they would be pleased. So he assumed, since they had no reason not to be.

And as for Ren, any benefit to him would benefit Lupercus'. That much was obvious.

"But i care not.

The benefits to me far outweigh anything thats terribly tragic resulting from this."

He smiled now, the agreement have been consented to.

"Fine."

"Then your buisness is finished here. Deal with whatever needs to be dealt with, and you nor will any of the council be dissappointed."

The frail skin on his cheek twitched as he itched to unleash bolt after bolt of force lightning, rippling into the spine of the young ingrate.

"I will contact you if it is needed." He growled under his breath before turning on his heels and swiftly vacating the room.

"Come Maxor!" He snapped as his hooded blackness dissappeared into the shadows.

Lupercus' trademark smirk appeared as the pair left. The anger eminating from Ren was truly an aphrodesiac to the Sith Lord, whose mental capacities held that of a globe above 9 other planets. Stretching his fingers out in a vague flex, Lupercus turned to leave, making his way back towards the shuttle.

He had had enough of governorship for the night.

And now, to find a bar...

His left eyelid twitched uncontrollabley for a millisecond.

Inscolent whelp . . .he is very fortunate that I am in such a spirited mood, or I would have destroyed him.

Staring at the face of Lupercus reminded him of his regretable tenure in the Consortium.

The times of his weak years, corrupted by the light of the force, with no outlet for the pain.

Every day, faced by the ugly facade of the Prince. Oh how he wanted to tear that concieted pig, limb from limb at the sight of his face. Dakkon was an ignorant, big-headed fool, who couldn't lead a poodle if it was attached to its leash.

Then there was the Queen mum. Here beautiful features only served as a distraction to her whorish nature. In Xion's eyes, Lupercus' only saving grace was that he ripped Vessana's children directly from her womb, with malice and a callous iceyness that Xion admired.

In a way she was the spark which proppelled him onto the road to liberation. If it wasn't for her willingness to bed him . . .he would have never been privy to the true nature of the Consortium.
A monarchy state formed by the combination of whores and rich playboy's who met each other's every indulgance.

The fact that she was not able to break through the barrier of her hate and destroy Lupercus when his death was impending, sickened him. He was glad in a way that Lupercus finally ended it. If he had remained alive, he would have had to deal with her fragile and weak being. Bordering on the light and dark, but unable to cross to either side.

She was a fence-sitter, and what's more was, she enjoyed it.

The vivid memories returned freshly into his mind, sending a hurtling convulsion, causing his stomach to turn.


As the corridor stretched onward, away from the cerimonial foyer area, the lights grew darker and darker, as the surrounding architecture grew more biological by the meter. Conduits that lined the walls began to resemble intestines, viens and umbilical cords.
The grotesque ensemble of organic putridness was topped off by the vile stench that eminated from the room beyond, Xion's private chambers.

Ahead, the corridor split of in two seperate directions at a t-junction. The door hissed noisily open, but only Xion stepped through. The horrid smell of rotting flesh served as a mental barrier for which Maxor could not cross, and neither did he wish too.

"Could I have his name Ma'am?"

"What do you want his name for, can't you keep tabs on your own reporters?"

"Ma'am, his name please?"

"Ugh! For the last time, his name is Frictor Swayth. How many operators am I going to go through before I can get some damned answers?"

"Ma'am, you'll have to lower your tone if you want me to deal with you."

"Lower my tone? Lower my tone!!? My fiancé has been missing for over three days, and you want me to lower my fu*king tone? @#%$ you!" Tess slammed down the receiver of the holo-phone down hard onto its base, rocking the rickety wooden table that it sat on, jarring her wrist in the process.

"Damn it!" She said, wincing.

She stood up from her arm chair in her tiny apartment, and strode to the small tin sink under the window. Rinsing her shaken wrist under the cold water, she glanced up at the sad reflection that she cast in the kitchen window and began to whimper.

Suddenly, like a violent awakening, the holo-phone buzzed out its twangy cheap ring, causing Tess to jump slightly before making a mad scramble for the phone.

"Hello?" She said, her breath heaving under her voice.

"Miss Belaar?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Golin Joar, I'm a agent from the Kuat constabulary bearau, I believe you called us earlier today?"

"Y. . .yes," Tess feared to press on with the conversation, the undertones of the agent's words filled her with a sense of dread that made her flesh creep. She continued, not before she had taken a hefty gulp in her throat, "yes, I did."

"Well," the agent sighed, indicating a weighty sentence to follow, "we may have found your fiancé's body, we need you to come down to the morgue to make an official identification."

No answer.

"Miss Belaar?"

Not a sound was returned.

"Miss?"

"W . . .what do you mean, may have?" This time, there was no answer for her and her chest heaved faster, and a loud breathy panting clouded over the phone line.

"We . . .can't tell."

"What? Can't tell what?"

"If it's your fiancé. Please, I'll explain more when you come down here. I don't mean to alarm you, it may very well turn out to be someone else entirely."


"Alright. . . I'll gather my things and come down right away."

"Alright, good bye then miss."

Her hand, limp with shock replaced the handset back down onto the receiver, and she fell back into the tattered chair in a total state of bewilderment.

What if it was her fiancé down in that icy morgue . . .then again, what if it wasn't?

She needed to know, she had to, her journalistic curiosity took over and had to be satisfied. A small part of her wanted it to be Frictor, for if it wasn't, her search remained, a search that's area seemed to grow exponentially by the day.