Really excited to see what's next.

Chapter 29 3637 BBY, 16 ATC - Outside New Adasta Night fell. Ziost’s twin moons once again hung themselves in the sky, illuminating the icy plain upon which Sierra and her Jedi Masters stood. It was quiet, save for Siphon’s continued struggle to escape her bindings. The Jedi had already begun to return to their shuttle and make preparations to proceed to their next destination. “Are you sure this is the Holocron you told us about before?” Sierra turned to Jedi Master Delmont Delray and nodded. Delray was not her own master, but they had worked together for so many years now, it almost felt like he was a second instructor. They had served together on Corellia, Balmorra, Alderaan. He was a human man of about forty years, though many assumed he was older because his hair had turned a shocking white early in his life. “I’m positive.” She had examined it herself before the other Masters had delivered it into a secure containment unit; it was exactly the same relic that had been pried from Lethe’s fingers: six pyramids uniting into a singular form. “It doesn’t seem all that powerful to me,” Master Delray mused. “Perhaps it’s defective.” “Siphon - the Sith - probably didn’t have enough time to decipher the Holocron’s secrets,” said Sierra. “ … if you say so.” Sierra managed a small smile. There was much on her mind. So much didn’t make sense … and something didn’t feel right. She could feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue. That sensation that everything was about to go horribly wrong. “Master. How did you know where to find me?” “Your friend - that sith pureblood - he gave us the tracking frequency,” said Delray. “He said you were in the midst of a chase and couldn’t make contact, but would need our help.” Sierra frowned. She should be thanking Astraad now, but ... “How did he know how to get in touch with you? I never gave him your com frequencies.” “He got them somehow. And good thing he did. Saved us a few hours … and your life, I suspect.” Delray turned to glance at the other Jedi before returning his attention to Sierra. “I hope you have everything you need. The other Masters will want to head to our new rendezvous location immediately.” Sierra had nothing but the clothes on her back and the lightsaber she had stolen from Lord Rend, but her lack of possessions was not what troubled her. Rend’s absence, however, did. She had lost him in the scuffle after hearing the explosion and he hadn’t reappeared since. She expected him to try and save Siphon, had assumed that he held more loyalty for the woman. “Hey kid, you okay?” asked Delray. “You look about a million miles away.” Sierra rubbed her eyes and then feigned a smile. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.” “Uh huh. Take it easy, Sierra. You’ve done good work today.” He was right about that, at least. She had accomplished everything she had set out to do. Lethe was saved from a corrupting influence. The real Siphon had been stopped. And the Holocron - the relic that she had followed undercover for over six months - was finally in the Jedi’s possession. Perhaps now, they would get the answers they sought, or even find a trace of the being they hunted. … still, something felt wrong. Sierra sighed. It was probably nothing. Lingering jitters and anxiety. There were more important things to worry about. She wondered if she would have an opportunity to reach out to Astraad or Lethe. Gratitude and apologies were due, respectively. She still felt uncertain about Astraad, but the man had been right about one thing - she could not have beaten Siphon and Rend on her own. His puzzling insight aside, she still owed him her life. And Lethe … Sierra was not sure if Lethe would be able to accept the truth, but she still felt she owed her false master an explanation at the least. They might not be able to be allies or friends, but they had both saved each other, in different ways perhaps … but Sierra truly did want to see Lethe - impostor though she might be - rise to prominence in the Empire. She mulled the thought for a while before deciding that reaching out to Lethe might be pressing her luck. Most of her brethren had already returned to their shuttle, but a few remained outside, hovering over a manic - but thankfully gagged - Siphon. Sierra approached, finding Masters Onok and Landai. “Excellent,” said Onok. “Sierra, you’re familiar with this Sith, right? I’d have your opinion. What should we do with her?” “Kill her,” said Landai. “We’ve no use hauling a Sith around and we can’t let her go free. The Empire --” Sierra had enough of killing this day. “She could still be useful. The Holocron is still a mystery … she might be able to help us understand it.” “You mean despite that pathetic display just now?” smirked Landai. “I think Sierra speaks reason,” said Onok, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Landai sighed. “Let her be your charge then. I wipe my hands of this.” “Certainly,” Onok said with a smile. The twi’lek dragged Siphon by the scruff of her neck onto the shuttle, followed closely by Landai. Sierra did the same. As they entered the shuttle and the landing bay closed, Sierra felt a hand on her shoulder, placed there in congratulations. “Well done, my padawan.” Sierra turned back and offered a smile and bow of her head. “Master Garault.” Garault looked like he had aged many years since the last time they had seen each other, though that couldn’t have been more than a year ago. The human man wore a fresh new scar on his face and Sierra thought she saw a smattering more gray strands in the man’s brown hair. Still, the sight of her master filled Sierra with a sense of reassurance and belonging that she hadn’t experienced in quite some time. “Your accent’s starting to make me think we have two sith lords on board,” Garault said with a small grin. “Sorry,” Sierra said. A few more attempts at vocalizing Republic Basic later and she still sounded like half her tongue had been born in the Empire. “It’s hard to get rid of it once you start.” “I can imagine. But we can deal with that later. For now, we have the Holocron … enough to investigate whether it has any connection with the disturbances happening across the planet and --” Landai issued a warning over the com system. “Prepare for takeoff.” Sierra watched as the Jedi Masters strapped themselves into their seats. She recognized most of them, though not all. Garault gave her a look that indicated their conversation would continue later. She sat herself into the nearest available seat and secured her own safety harness. Their shuttle ascended, thrusters pushing them off Ziost’s frozen plains. Higher and higher they climbed, penetrating the planet’s stratosphere. From here, she could see New Adasta out the pilot’s cockpit. It felt strange knowing that she was leaving the city behind - her home within the Empire for so many months. It had not been pleasant, by any means, but -- That’s when she sensed it. A disturbance in the Force. Massive … overwhelming. Something rushed at them from all directions: a power that felt both familiar and yet strange in its unique terror. It chilled her to her core, sucked the breath from her lungs. It reminded her of the Holocron, and yet ... Then it was gone. “Did you feel that, Master?” Sierra asked, unable to suppress the alarm in her tenor. Garault nodded, the slightest flicker of burgeoning concern spreading across his face. “I did.” He raised his voice, calling out to their commander, “Master Surro, did you--” Before Surro could respond, Delray screamed, clutching his head in agony. “Delray! What’s the matter?!” shouted Surro. If the man heard the question, he gave no indication that he did. “Get out! Get out of my head!!” Surro unstrapped herself from the copilot’s seat and rushed to Delray’s side. “Onok! Help me with him!” But Sierra could tell that Master Onok did not hear a single word. He stared at his hands, face enrapt in fear, heart consumed by horror. “It’s the Holocron!” Sierra shouted. “It’s the Holocron!” “We are JEDI! Remember the code!” Surro summoned the Force to bring Delray’s mind to peace, but to no avail. “There is no emotion. There is peace!” Siphon started to laugh, overcome by her mania, and yet suddenly her laughter cut short, like someone had turned off a recording. Her eyes went white, dull, and opaque. “There is no ignorance. There is knowledge!” Sierra watched as one by one, all the Jedi Masters aboard their shuttle succumbed to the Holocron’s irresistible will. “There is no passion. There is serenity!” Master Garault screamed, hands clawing at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, desperate and flailing, pawing at the orifices on his face as though he could pluck out the intruder with his fingers. Frantic, Sierra unbuckled herself from her seat and seized the Holocron’s receptacle from the still-babbling Delray. Her lightsaber cut through the container before she even realized; the Holocron dropped to the floor of the shuttle - without a single bounce. Sierra slammed her weapon down into the relic, but no matter how hard she pushed, her blade would not penetrate it. “There is no chaos. There is harmony!” Surro hollered into the cockpit. “Landai! Get us on the ground, now!” But Master Landai too, could no longer hear. Could no longer act. She clutched at her head in simultaneous confusion and agony, screaming. She lost control of the shuttle; it veered wildly off course, losing thrusters, antigravitational lift, environmental stabilizers … they were careening back to the planet. They were going to crash. “There is no death. There is the -- no! NO! I won’t let --. He can’t do this!” Sierra didn’t understand. Why was this happening?! Surro shrieked in wretched anguish. But the next words she spoke were perfectly calm. “You know what you have to do, Sierra. Don’t let him take us. Don’t let him take control.” She wanted Sierra to kill her. “Remember who we are! Remember the sixth line! There is no contemplation. There is only duty!” Spurred by the Jedi Master’s words, Sierra raised her blade up high. But it was too late. He came for her now. Vitiate. The Sith Emperor. His voice bellowed in her mind, shattering all focus, eradicating all concentration, silencing all dissension: YOU ARE MINE. She was his. She could no more resist him than an asteroid could escape the gravity of a sun. She was an insect, trapped in his hurricane, destined to be swept into his maw. And through him, she caught a glimpse of what was to come. Even as she brought her weapon up to grant Surro’s last request, her arm was already moving sheathe the blade. Not by her will, but by his. By the Holocron’s. Her will was no longer her own. She had been subsumed, just like all the rest of them. They had lost their chance. They had lost everything. All that remained were puppets. All that they knew was Moments later, their shuttle crashed back onto Ziost’s surface. * * * * * “Toes … look!” Hallie pointed up to the sky. Tosin looked up … and watched as the shuttle of Jedi - the shuttle that had taken off only minutes ago - crashed back down to the planet. They ran forward to get a better look. From the wreckage, a dozen Jedi masters crawled out … but there was something wrong with them. Something unnatural. Tendrils of crimson energy wafted off of them in waves, tainting light with dark. Swallowing hope with despair. Trading defiance for capitulation. Something was controlling them all. Eris. Siphon. A dozen Jedi Masters. How was it possible? Tosin sank to his knees. The power … it was incomprehensible! Infinite! Simultaneously carnal yet transcendent. Ravenous, yet indifferent. It pulled at him like a star, radiant in its beauty, but deadly in its wrath; leaving only ash in its wake. The female Jedi Master - the leader from before - stood up. He saw her clearly now; her hood had been torn off in the crash. Brown dreadlocks pushed up and behind her head highlighted a myriad of scars that painted themselves across her face. There was no doubt … this was a Jedi Master who had seen years of battle, had survived countless engagements. And still, she had succumbed. The rest of the Jedi followed suit, but Tosin could tell they too did not do so by their own will. Invisible strings lifted their arms and legs in a facade of independence, but Tosin saw through them. Marionettes. That’s what these Jedi had been reduced to. The group split into two. The Jedi leader led a group north, towards New Adasta, feet dashing upon the snow with aberrant speed. The other group included Lethe’s apprentice, who untied Darth Siphon’s bindings and helped her up. All of them headed east -- But the Siphon who stood was no longer their master. Tosin could feel it, even at their distance. The way she moved was different. Cold, calculating stares had replaced the frantic madness that had been Tosin and Hallie’s constant companion since their return to New Adasta. Whatever, whoever, now controlled the Jedi, also controlled Siphon. “She -- Siphon’s getting away!” Hallie’s frantic cry jolted Tosin from his reverie. By instinct, his hands lanced out an arc of lightning at his former master. Just as the bolt was about to connect, Eris’s form suddenly turned, stepping straight into the path of his attack. The lightning surged into her and she collapsed to the ground; no shriek, no cry … just stillness. They chased after their quarry, barely able to keep pace with the fast-moving group of dominated Jedi. As he ran, Tosin summoned the Force once more to charge another charge of electricity … but nothing came. Once more, his power failed him. Once more the darkness abandoned him. Again and again he tried, each time only to be met with brazen defeat. As they passed Eris’ body, Tosin let his feet stumble and fall. Hallie broke her sprint, returning to lift him back up. “Toes, we can’t stop!” Hallie screamed, her voice filled to the brim with all the futile despair, pent-up rage, hopeless regret that had plagued them both since their former master drafted them back into her service. “She’s getting away! We need her to save Andora!” Tosin stared at his hands; he already knew it was useless. He could no more command lightning now than the Jedi who fled could break free of their bonds. He had failed. They watched as Siphon, along with the Jedi, disappeared into the horizon; Hallie sank to her knees in the snow. The rustle of cloth drew their attention back to the fallen Eris. The woman stood up slowly, grunting as she did so. Tosin stepped forward to put Hallie behind himself, shielding her as best he could. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it would be any use. Eris had taken his lightsaber. The Force rejected him. What chance did they stand? “I … I’m free,” Eris breathed. “H-how …?” Tosin put two and two together. The jolt of lightning - perhaps the last he would ever throw - had somehow severed the connection between puppeteer and puppet. His attempt to stop Siphon had inadvertently freed Eris from her domination. “Stay back,” warned Tosin. “You don’t understand,” Eris cried as clarity renewed panicked desperation. “We have to save them! They’re still under his control!” “They’re your masters,” said Hallie, the words sparking realization and understanding in them both. “You’re Jedi.” Eris nodded, offering neither denial nor explanation. “You saved me. You broke his compulsion! Please, you must help me - you can save them all!” Tosin’s nose curled in disgust. “Why would I want to --” Hallie interrupted him. “No, wait. Toes, if she … maybe she can help us.” Eris’ eyes darted between them both, frenetic in her hope to reach an understanding. “A bargain then. Help me save my masters, and I’ll help you--” “You’ll help us capture Siphon,” said Tosin. “Alive,” added Hallie. The young Jedi nodded. “Agreed. Whatever it takes. Did you see the other group went? We were heading east, that much I remember, but --” Eris’ words stopped dead in their tracks as suddenly she began to claw at her head in excruciating agony. Tosin whirled around to see a figure standing alone in the distance. Lethe. Somehow she had found them. He raised his hand to attempt to throw Lethe back through the Force, but she was too quick. Too driven. She slammed her hand in a wide circle and forced Tosin and Hallie to the ground. This was power magnified a thousand-fold by pure, unadulterated rage. Unquenchable vengeance. Undeniable sorrow. “So it’s true, Sierra. You are Jedi. You are a traitor.” * * * * * Writer's Note:

They always intended solo players to advance the slowest through galactic command. But at 10CXP per elite, on the lower level planets and in elite-heavy areas with fast respawn rates, solo players could potentially be advancing the quickest. You could kill twenty elites and get 200 CXP in the span of 3 minutes. While I don't like this change either, I can see why they made it.

Ack, I'm sorry to hear you got roped into another 6 month subscription. But, I'm glad to hear you're sticking around! PS. I really enjoyed KOTET's story, hope you do as well.

Another excellent chapter. The writing is always sharp but there were so many wonderful lines this time it was hard to pick a favorite. So I'll pick several XD: As always, excellent chapter and looking forward to what's next.

There were a few things that bugged me, but overall I loved the story. It was an improvement over KOTFE overall, I think. Had a lot of fun these last 3 days.

I'm sad in the sense that I'm not sure where the story will go from here. Valkorion has been a primary antagonist for so long, it's hard to imagine who else could rival him.

I disliked ghost binding for my inquisitor anyway. I'd rather be powerful on my own, not need to rely on a bunch of ghosts.

I saved Vette because I figured if anyone had a better chance of making it out alive on his own, it would be Torian. Sadly, that did not happen.

I would love to see additional story content as well. Although, it will be hard to top KOTET I think ...

Hey, I'm from around there! Still in norcal now but closer to SF.

All I can say is thank you Luna. And that I meant what I said about your own superb writing.

Luna beat me to first responder! Arghhh ... again the chapter ends right as I'm really eager for answers. Can't wait for the next.

The closer we get to the end, the more afraid I am people won't like it ... but I guess I can only cross my fingers at this point. Thank you so much Luna, your kind words and encouragement mean so much. And I really admire your ability to craft compelling characters and capture so many different voices (Marr, Vowrawn, Ravage). I can only hope some of that is rubbing off on me.

Interlude Pallas’ Estate, New Adasta “Adasta Daily News continues to receive reports of strange and mysterious rebellions, defections, and sedition across the planet. Military and political analysts now widely believe that the sheer volume of revolutionary activity exceeds the ability of the Ziost Liberation Front to coordinate. Investigations continue, but --” Lord Pallas shut off his viewscreen and kicked his feet up onto his desk. Loosing a relaxed breath, he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his lounge chair. What did he care for this latest news? Soon he would return to Dromund Kaas and be far, far removed from this pisshole of a planet. These latest reports only succeeded in killing his buzz, and he deserved his euphoria, after all he had endured. Things had gone swimmingly for him since Lord Beral had been captured and detained at Siphon’s Citadel; it had been many months since he last felt so in control. Once, he had only been a step away from the Dark Council. But when Darth Vowrawn abandoned his disciples to escape the Hands, all of his lieutenants - Pallas included - had been disgraced in the eyes of the Empire. His master was a traitor, they all said. He had been forced to watch as all his work crumbled to ash in his hands. The relationships he had built. The alliances he had forged. They all evaporated as soon as news of Vowrawn’s disappearance filtered its way through the grapevine. Starved of influence and practically destitute, Pallas had no choice but to prostrate himself before more powerful Sith. Sith like Beral. How he hated her. The pureblood woman delighted in his misery, taunted him at every chance. She tantalized him with promises that always wound up conveniently forgotten. She openly worked against his efforts to rebuild his name and kept him in the dark on almost every project for which she engaged him. Aiding Beral kept him afloat, but only just. For a man who had the ear of a Dark Councillor, to sink so low as this was nearly insufferable. And then Beral had gotten herself imprisoned. For these last blissful weeks, he felt once more that the world filled with possibility. That the Empire - or at least a seat of significance within it - was within his grasp. Hidden from Beral’s watchful eye, Pallas had been free to restore much of his lost prestige. He had repaired his relationship with Darth Nox. His overtures to Marr’s lieutenants had been well-received. And he had bought several well-positioned contacts within Sith Intelligence to keep him apprised of all the latest developments. No more did he need to kowtow to that witch. No more could she emasculate him on a daily basis. No more. His holocom sounded out from an unfamiliar frequency. He answered it. His heart sank into his stomach. “Prepare for my arrival, Pallas. My shuttle will be at your estate in a few minutes.” Pallas struggled for words. “My lord Beral! You … you escaped?” “Of course, my friend. You didn’t think I would allow myself to be jailed forever, did you? Beral, out.” No. No, no … no. No. Pallas couldn’t suffer that woman for a single minute more, much less allow her to return to dominating his life. Not after everything. Not now. Cold understanding seeped its way into his mind. He would have to take matters into his own hands. He would have to kill her. The problem: Pallas knew how powerful Beral was. He had seen it firsthand. He had experienced it. He was no fool. He knew that facing her in battle would likely only result in his death. But battle was not the only way to eliminate an enemy. He activated his comlink and directed it to the head of his kitchen staff. “Azley. Lord Beral is returning to the estate. I would like to prepare a banquet in her honor.” “A-are you sure, my lord?” asked the chef. “Lord Beral did not seem overly fond of my cuisine the last time she visited.” Pallas smiled to himself. “It will be different this time. In fact, I’m sure it will be a meal to die for.” * * * * * The shuttle Beral had stolen from the Citadel landed with a groan and screech upon the shuttlepad connected to Lord Pallas’ estate. As the exit hatch doors released, she watched as a ghost-faced Pallas rushed forward to receive her. “My lord? Are you alright? How did you escape?” Pallas’ barrage of questions went unanswered. She waved away the attendants he had brought with him and strode out of the shuttle. As she walked, she glanced down to her hand to inspect the token Astraad had given her. It rested in her palm, unmoving, unremarkable. “Take me somewhere private, Pallas,” she ordered. “We need to talk. And get me something to eat.” She ignored the look of confusion on Pallas’ face and marched forwards toward the meager-looking hovel that her companion called home. It took a few moments for Pallas to catch up to her, panting only slightly as he struggled to match her stride. “Of course, my lord. My private chambers then. This way. We can get you cleaned up and off the pla -- by the stars, you look horrible.” Beral offered Pallas a contemptuous arched brow. The effort was rewarded by a stammering apology. “F-forgive me, my lord. My tongue is too quick for my mind it seems.” She remained silent to allow Pallas to stew in regretful discomfort, though for the first time in a long time, she sensed something more in the air between them than cowardice and subservience. There was a hint of anger, a dash of rage that she had not felt since they first met. Pallas was bold back then, still proud even in the face of his master’s humiliation. Beral had worked very hard to squash any remnant of that ego from his identity. She wondered what could have spawned its rebirth. They reached Pallas’ quarters without exchanging another word, Pallas rushing first to his personal minibar to pour them both a drink. As Beral stepped through the doorway, she immediately began removing her dirty and sweat-soaked robes, stripping down to her undergarments. “My lord, what are you -- ?! L-let me send for some clean --” Beral ignored his sputtering. “Send for something to eat. I’m starving.” Pallas could not help but let his eyes linger over her form. Beral was not surprised. Muscle and sinew did not always hide the flesh and curves that men so often found pleasing. For her part, she did not mind the attention. A naked body served many uses: distraction. Leverage. Manipulation. How she would use it here would be to her discretion. It took Pallas a few moments to recover. “I … as you wish. I’ve already instructed my personal chef to prepare a welcoming banquet for you. Is there anything in particular you … you’re craving?” “Surprise me, Pallas. Quickly. I’m losing my patience.” She was careful to insert just the right amount of annoyance in her words to spur Pallas into action. “As you say.” Pallas activated his comlink and mumbled into it. Beral noted the surreptitious glances he threw her way. The difference in the man’s behavior grew more stark with every passing moment. He seemed possessed with a confidence, an anger, that Beral did not have the patience to indulge. Even his mewling carried a hint of defiance. It seemed that in her absence, Pallas had grown resentful. That would have to be rectified. Leaving him to his tasks, Beral stepped into Pallas’ lavatory. Setting her token down onto the sink, she began to wash herself, running fresh, crisp, clean water over her aching muscles and bruised skin. She cupped water in her hands and ran it quickly through the stubble atop her head, wiping away weeks of sweat and oil and dirt. She wouldn’t have bothered washing, but decorum demanded a degree of cleanliness. After all, the final stage was about to begin. It would not do to greet her master while still covered in filth. As her hands brushed the skin atop her forehead, she winced. Her time at the Citadel had earned her several new battle scars - burnt flesh that would never truly recover. She would have to remember to style her hair - once it grew out - so that the disfigurement remained visible. No sense having trophies if not to display them with pride. She glanced at the small orb once more. Still, it remained silent. Still, it remained unmoving. After preening herself for another fifteen minutes, she swiftly toweled off. She tucked the orb into her bra and stepped back into Pallas’ personal chambers, still wearing only her undergarments. The savory scent of a lightly seared meat wafted into the room; Pallas carried a large platter with a single hand while two attendants set up a small dining table and two chairs. Beral sat down into one of them, crossed her legs, and smiled. This was more like it. “I’ve asked Azley to prepare a meal I trust will be to your liking,” said Pallas. He set the platter down on a serving table and revealed two mouth-watering steaks. As the slaves dressed their dining table with a clean cloth and utensils, Pallas described what they were about to experience: “The finest cut of meat, cooked rare, garnished with some local herbs and accompanied by an exquisite mushroom sauce. I took the liberty of pairing it with a Corellian Red. I hope you don’t mind, my lord.” She offered a wry smile. “Not at all, Pallas, my friend. This will do nicely. Although, I must admit I am surprised … I thought you said Ziost didn’t carry much of a culinary bounty.” Pallas’ attendants gently set the plates of steak down in front of them both. They had the good sense to give Beral the larger offering, the one that was still rare. Pallas’ was overdone as usual. It had been too long since Beral dined on real food, textured and substantial. Siphon’s forces had resorted to feeding her intravenously during her stay in the Citadel, fearful that she might free herself if they allowed her the use of her arms. She wanted to bite into something, to tear it apart with her teeth, to gnash and chew and to swallow: the simplest of life’s pleasures, but one she now craved to satisfy. “I wanted something special to represent …” Pallas paused for a second to choose his words, “ … how happy I am that you’ve escaped Siphon’s clutches.” Beral smiled. The man was a better liar than she gave him credit, but she had no doubt that the words he just spoke lacked any semblance of veracity. The old sith dismissed his slaves and then poured two glasses of wine, offering one to her. “The steak I had imported from Kaas City. The wine we picked up while Corellia was still contested. Needless to say, it’s far more rare now in Imperial space.” “How kind of you, Pallas.” “Shall we toast? To freedom?” Beral watched as the man raised his glass to her and then took a healthy swallow of the alcohol. She reflected the gesture and then sampled the wine herself, letting it wash over her tongue. The palate was oaky and rich, a perfect complement to their meal. Her fingers reached for the nearby fork and knife, almost by instinct, and she began cutting into the meat, savoring the feel of its resistance against the utensil as she cut a morsel free. She had earned this. Slowly, she brought the meat to her mouth. The anticipation was almost as good as the actual indulgence. She imagined its sensation against her teeth, its taste upon her tongue, the texture as it would feel sliding down her throat. How delectable it would feel. Instead, she felt the token Astraad had given her begin to vibrate against her breast. And then, she felt Pallas’ eyes upon her, watching her like a vulture waiting for hyenas to abandon a meal so that it could pick at the bones. Beral set her fork down, the skewered piece of steak dripping sauce onto the tablecloth. Her knife remained in her other hand as she asked, “Aren’t you going to eat, Pallas? A shame to let such a good meal go cold.” “Oh,” the man fumbled. “Of course.” He cut a few slices of overcooked steak and shoved them into his mouth, a little too-eagerly. With each mouthful, he would glance to her, would look straight into her eyes, watching, waiting with bated breath. But for what? He never used to look her in the eyes before. Always, his would flit away at any chance meeting, a slave’s gaze, common among Sith who could only ever aspire to mediocrity. The Sith that would content themselves in advisory and administrative positions. The Sith that were cowards. It seemed, no longer. “Tell me. How long have we been working together?” asked Beral. Pallas looked surprised. “Half a year, my lord. Is … is something wrong with the meal?” “Not at all, my friend. But I’d like to discuss something before we eat.” Pallas rested his hands gingerly on the edges of the table, looking as though he might be ready to bolt. “ … what is it, my lord?” “You toasted to freedom. I thought we might discuss the terms to your freedom.” His bewilderment appeared genuine. “My freedom? I’m afraid I’m not sure I understand.” Beral laughed lightly. “Come now, Pallas. You don’t need to put airs for me. We both know full well why you turned to us. Your allegiance was offered out of necessity, rather than loyalty. When Vowrawn ran, what choice did he leave you?” “Have you found my service lacking?” There was a hint of both anger and fear in that question. Beral wasn’t quite sure which was the stronger. “Quite the opposite,” she said. “You have been instrumental in carrying out our plans. But I can understand the desire a Sith would have not to be forever trapped under another’s thumb.” Pallas stared at her, still with that defiant eye, but now his defiance was joined by uncertainty. “Do you not wish to be free of us?” asked Beral. “To return to your politicking? To once more have the ear of the Dark Council? To be your own man?” His response was hesitant and slow, as though he did not trust that his words would not betray him. “I … I do.” “Good, my friend. This is how a Sith should be. Bold. Brash. To see something they desire, and seize it. To take opportunities wherever they may lie. You want your freedom? I am here to offer it to you.” Pallas set his utensils down. “ … just like that? No conditions? No strings attached?” Beral smiled, wide. “Now that you mention it … there is one last thing I need your help with.” “One last thing. What is it?” She could see it in his eyes now. The prospect of being free. Pallas salivated after it almost as much as she did the meal before her: a tantalizing offer he could not refuse. The emotion splayed itself upon his face for Beral to read. The doubt in his mind was at this very second turning into desperate hope. “This will be the most we have ever asked of you, but it is also the last. You must steel your resolve. You must seize the opportunity. You must be ready to sacrifice. Can you do that, Pallas?” Pallas nodded, unable to hide his eagerness. “I can, Lord Beral. I will.” She stood up and leaned forward, beckoning him to do the same with a single finger. As their faces drew close, she whispered into his ear: “That’s good. That’s very good. After all … a man can have anything, if he’s willing to sacrifice.” Before Pallas could react, Beral swiped her knife across his throat. Before he could react, she summoned the Force, freezing him in place, paralyzing him in stasis. Before he could react, she set down her blade, finished the rest of her wine, and then placed the empty glass beneath his neck, a chalice waiting to be refilled. The man’s eyes bulged in shock, in disbelief, in terror. Words attempted to break his lips, but they came out a gargled and incomprehensible mess. Even dying, he struggled against her will, desperate to save himself. Beral wanted to laugh. How pitiful … his mewlings reminded her of the slaves that served the Empire. Pallas thought he was her servant, but he never realized he was not even that. Not even a slave. He was cattle. He was livestock. The glass filled quickly. She picked it back up and released her hold over the man. He collapsed face first onto her meal, dead, eyes frozen wide in despair. “There,” whispered Beral. “Now, you are free.” She waited a few moments and watched in amusement as the side of Pallas’ face touching the steak he had prepared for her began to dissolve, as though being eaten away by acid. “Poison, Pallas?” she asked the corpse as a flash of annoyance swept over her at the lost meal. “How shameful. Sith resorting to poison. As if you could lose any more of your face.” Her stomach growled its disapproval but she ignored it. She was too close. The final step. Everything she had done, all the ire she had earned from her brethren … it had all been for this one, singular moment. Beral cleared a space in Pallas’ chambers for her to work. In the center, she placed the token. She poured half of her bloody glass’ precious liquid out, but did not let it touch the ground. Instead, she caught it with the Force, forming it into a fluid, crimson sphere. With it, she commanded the Force to paint the Empire’s six-arrowed insignia upon the floor, letting it congeal. She dashed the rest of Pallas’ blood across that symbol, desecrating it, before seating herself in the center. There, Beral invoked the words she had waited to speak for so long: Ancient is his power; Boundless, his ambition. All who would defy him, Know only submission. Satiate his hunger. Herald his paradise. All who would strive for him, Know only sacrifice. The Force swirled around her, anchored by the orb in a violent vortex, hissing, screaming. And then, without warning, it fled from her side, out of Pallas’ estate and into Ziost’s wilderness. Beral cackled after it, overwhelmed by her victory, stretching her arms high towards the heavens. She had done it! Against all odds, she had succeeded! She had proven herself the most loyal of her master’s servants. She had made herself the harbinger of all things to come, her master’s beacon! His herald! There was no stopping him now. * * * * * Edit: Caught a typo thanks to Kitar's keen eye. Thanks Kitar!

Do you mean the menu buttons like inventory, character sheet and the like? They are stlil there, just hidden in some dropdowns. I'm not a huge fan of the reorganization of the menus myself, but they do still exist. If you're talking about losing abilities, is it possible you're in tutorial mode? Press Escape and the first option should be to "Disable Tutorial." That should restore your ability bars. As for credits and gear, sorry, I'm at a loss as to how that could have disappeared.

I'm still reading from the beginning, but I couldn't help but take a look at the fight scene in the latest chapter and it was great! Loved the banter going on between Arielle and Scourge, it added both to the levity and to the excitement. Kudos!

Loved all the nods to the original KOTOR. Carth saying "Down you go!" was like hearing a long lost friend. I still remember that game fondly. I also remember the phrase "jidu bata wana nini bobo" being seared into my mind because the aliens say it nonstop, but that's neither here nor there ... See you over at fanfiction.net!

I failed this thing 5 times before I finally finished it lol. For some reason, the game thought there were still active power cells even after I destroyed them. It was annoying.

I love my lightsaber on my sorc. I also am constantly using saber strike in story missions. If you time it correctly and strike a killing blow with it, you can see some cool flourishes. It's a nice change of pace from blasting lightning all day.