A perfect cinnamon roll too good for this galaxy, too pure. This is why it's always best to bring a packed lunch along for a day of enemy destroying. Melodrama is such a Sith thing. Looking forward to seeing what happens next, especially everyone's reaction to The Big Bad.

I do apologize for the delay between this update and the last; I was out of town for a week and had no chance to get anything done. Updates should now resume the normal schedule of "once a week, maybe, if I feel like it." Seven The Citadel, Dromund Kaas 13 ATC It hadn’t worked. A’tro didn’t understand. It had seemed like such a good plan. Sleep with Savadar, possibly pursue some sort of continued relationship with him after that, and forget all about Quinn. But it hadn’t worked. In fact, intimacy with another man had only made her think about Quinn more. She paced up and down her office, frustration boiling away in her chest like a pocket of magma ready to break through to the surface. Quinn was far, far away—she didn’t even know where he was. But she still wanted him. It was maddening. And also, buried somewhere under the anger, more than a little frightening. No one should have this kind of hold over her. At least no one knew. She had kept it a secret from her own crew, and by the time she had become a public figure it didn’t matter anymore. Such a crack in her armor would have been easily exploited. Of course, it didn’t matter how well she hid the crack if she just ended up putting a blade through it herself. A’tro continued to pace. Vette, had she been there, would probably have made a joke about her wearing a hole in the floor, but Vette wasn’t there. She had sent Vette away, told her she was free to go, and she had taken the offer and left. A’tro didn’t particularly care one way or the other; they had never exactly been friends. Vette had been helpful, and allowing her to leave the Empire seemed a fitting reward. Vette was gone, and Pierce and Broonmark were off doing her bidding elsewhere—Pierce with the military, Broonmark on his own, where he seemed to do best. Jaesa had been, as far as A’tro could tell, making a valiant effort to learn what a proper Sith apprentice was supposed to do. This effort had amounted to a great deal of skulking about Kaas City and very little actually being done, but at least she was trying. She was also the only one of A’tro’s original crew to remain in proximity to her. A’tro thought that perhaps the dispersal of her followers should bother her, as she had worked so closely with them for so long, but the only one whose absence troubled her was Quinn. A’tro paused in midstep as her personal holocom chimed. With a small sigh, she ceased her pacing and activated the device, audio only. “Yes?” Zariel’s voice crackled over the speaker. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but there is a military officer here requesting to speak with you.” The bottom dropped out of A’tro’s stomach. “Shall we send her away?” Zariel asked. Hearing the pronoun restored some semblance of sense to A’tro’s mind, and she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Has she said what she wants?” “I believe she’s seeking your assistance for her commander’s campaign against the Republic.” A’tro raised a brow-ridge; she received numerous messages in that vein every day, but few were bold enough to approach her in person. “I will grant this officer an audience. Send her in.” “Yes, my lord.” There was a click as Zariel ended the transmission. A’tro retrieved a tie from a small compartment on her belt and secured her hair in its usual tail. She adjusted her gloves, took several more deep breaths, and remembered what it was to be a Sith, not some flustered pile of uselessness. Whoever this officer was, she wasn’t Quinn. A’tro could handle anything and anyone that fell into that particular category. She strode out into her antechamber with confidence, deliberately drawing upon the Force to grant herself a subtle aura of intimidation that would be perceived by even a Force-blind’s limited senses. Her visitor was a tall human woman dressed in a well-fitted Imperial military uniform with a major’s insignia of rank. She had fair skin and short cropped black hair with longer bangs angled across her forehead. Her dark green eyes were accented by subtle, elegant makeup. She carried no visible weapons other than a blaster holstered at her side, which apparently Janeth and Zariel had seen fit to allow her to keep. Then again, a blaster would do little good against a Sith. “Lord Wrath,” she said as soon as A’tro entered the room. She bowed deeply. “You are most gracious to grant me this audience. I’m Major Sharinet Merrik, here on—” A’tro folded her arms across her chest. “You’re looking to get my support for a campaign,” she said, cutting her off. “You came to me directly, so you’re either lacking in sense or overly ambitious.” Merrik looked startled by her frankness for a brief instant. Then her face composed itself into the attentive blank expression that all Imperial officers seemed to be trained in. “I admit, I was not instructed to seek you out in particular, my lord. However, I was ordered to obtain Sith support, and it seemed more efficient to approach the most powerful of Sith rather than attempt to entice a multitude of the mediocre.” “How glib,” A’tro said dryly. “I suppose you were given this assignment on account of your way with words.” “I’m often told I have a clever tongue, my lord,” Merrik murmured, her blank expression cracking under the weight of a subtle smirk. “That will get you into trouble someday, I suspect.” “Oh, it already has, my lord. More than once. But I’ve survived.” A’tro shook her head. “Make your case, then. I’m sure you have a fancy speech prepared.” Merrik stood slightly straighter. “Perhaps my lord Wrath would prefer to hear the abridged version.” A’tro sighed. “Just get on with it. I’m in no mood for games.” “I thought not,” Merrik muttered. She stood at attention and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Are you familiar with the planet Telos, my lord?" A’tro thought for a moment. “It’s a Republic world. The site of a major Sith victory during the Jedi Civil War, if I recall the history correctly.” “Precisely, my lord. Telos, like Taris, was laid waste by the Sith. Unlike Taris, however, reconstruction efforts were able to restore the planet to its former glory. It now stands as a powerful symbol of Republic strength and resolve.” “And we want to crush all that, I take it?” Merrik smiled. “Telos survived the wrath of the Sith three hundred years ago, but it will not be given that chance again. The commander of this campaign, Moff Aurelius Drayle—” A’tro stopped hearing her. Drayle was a fairly competent but largely unremarkable Moff who seemed unlikely to cause trouble. Born to a lower-class family, he had enlisted and ascended through the ranks in a textbook example of Imperial perseverance. He had performed well as a commander both before and after the Treaty of Coruscant, but not so well that he had garnered significant notice in the game of Sith political-military machinations. She knew his background because she had looked into it. Because she’d had Malavai Quinn assigned to his command. Merrik was clearly highly placed among Drayle’s command staff. She probably knew Quinn. Had she approached her because of the connection between them? No, no, she had Merrik figured out. The woman was clearly looking to climb up the chain of command, and recruiting a powerful Sith to win the war for them was an easy path to promotion. This was likely all a coincidence. Coincidence…or the Force. Could it be that she was meant to end up where Quinn was? Could it be that the conflict within her would only be resolved by confronting him directly? “—going smoothly, but the Republic has sent reinforcements that have greatly obstructed our progress,” Merrik was saying, oblivious to A’tro’s sudden turmoil. “With strong Sith support, however, it will be simplicity itself to annihilate Telos’ defenses and plant the Imperial banner amidst the ashes.” A’tro thought about it for one long, hard moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. Then she made up her mind. “Very well, Major,” she said coolly. “I will lend my power to your endeavors. Inform Moff Drayle that I will be arriving on Telos soon.” Surprise, then smugness radiated from Merrik in the Force. “We are most grateful for your support, my lord.” She bowed low. “I will convey the news to Moff Drayle at once.” A’tro nodded. “Dismissed.” She turned and walked out of the room without waiting for Merrik to leave. It was done. She was a warrior by nature. Involving herself in Dark Council politics was clearly not enough to drive Quinn from her thoughts. She had to fight, had to face him directly, before she could have any resolution. She would end both a Republic war effort and her personal problems in one stroke. Through victory, she thought, my chains are broken.

I just binge-read the past week's worth of updates. Good stuff, as always. I will continue to be up to date now that I am back!

I think the biggest thing Nalenne has to worry about while wearing that wig is looking adorable.

Pierce, innocent? And skulking? Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Six The Citadel, Dromund Kaas 13 ATC The Emperor’s Wrath’s apartment was located on a stretch of Citadel hallway that had, for whatever reason, a large gap between lights, leaving the door sitting in a pool of shadow. Even the bright red armor of the two Imperial Guards who stood on either side of it was reduced to a faded bloodstain in the dimness. “What’s she doing?” Zariel asked abruptly, speaking softly enough that only her counterpart standing less than a meter away could hear. “It’s not our business,” Janeth answered automatically. After a moment, he added, “Although I think it’s pretty obvious.” “It’s not right,” Zariel muttered. “She is the Emperor’s Wrath. She shouldn’t be wasting time carrying on like this.” “They could just be talking in there,” Janeth said dubiously. “For half the night.” “It isn’t right!” Zariel said, then froze at attention as her voice carried a bit farther than she had intended. “Relax,” Janeth told her. “No one’s around. And like I said, it’s not any of our business what the Wrath does. Or who.” He chuckled at his own joke. “You disgust me sometimes.” They had been having the entire conversation without looking at each other, maintaining their positions parallel to the wall on either side of the door. After Zariel’s comment, however, Janeth turned to face her. “What’s really bothering you, Arden?” he asked. “This isn’t just about the Wrath being a little frivolous with her time. I can tell.” Zariel continued staring stiffly out at the hallway in front of them. “Were you not listening when the Wrath encountered that man on Korriban?” “No, I wasn’t. Our assignment is to protect the Wrath, not spy on her.” “Your ability to be willingly oblivious never ceases to amaze me. The Wrath mentioned K’hera Dhakar.” “Should I know who that is?” Zariel finally whirled around to face him, the eye slit of her helmet revealing just enough of a stormy blue glare. “I’m starting to think all the beatings you took in training ruined your memory.” Janeth shrugged languidly. “What can I say? I had authority issues.” “This is what happens when we take uneducated vagrants from Ziost and try to make them soldiers,” Zariel hissed. “I was a bloody good soldier. Still am,” Janeth protested without any real heat in his voice. “Maybe you’re just pent up. I can cover for you if you need to go find someone to beat into the ground. Or we could go together; I don’t think the Wrath will need us for a while.” “We’re on duty, Vorin,” Zariel said, clearly scandalized. “And we need to talk about K’hera Dhakar.” “Right, you were going to tell me who that is. And why I should care.” “K’hera Dhakar was Darth Evendre’s apprentice. You do remember Darth Evendre, I hope?” “Small-time Darth; big-time traitor. A ‘fallen’ Jedi who turned out to be faking it.” Janeth nodded slowly. “That was a fun assignment. I thought her apprentice died?” “That was what we were told. That was what all the records show. But I’m starting to think that Dhakar is actually still alive, and is, well, the Wrath.” “That’s crazy.” “Look at the images on record. They’re practically identical.” “Let me get this straight,” Janeth said slowly. “You’re telling me that you think the Emperor’s Wrath is the former apprentice of a Jedi spy. Which means—what, exactly? Don’t tell me you think the Wrath could be a traitor.” “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.” “Arden, listen to yourself. If the Wrath’s loyalties were anything other than what they seem to be, she would have to be fooling us, the Emperor’s Hand, and the Emperor himself. And that’s just absurd.” “That’s—that’s not precisely what I meant,” Zariel muttered, deflating slightly. “So what did you mean? Hopefully something that won’t get us executed for suspecting the Emperor’s favorite Sith of treason.” “I just meant that we should watch her.” “We already do.” “You know what I mean.” “She was Baras’ apprentice, too,” Janeth pointed out. “And he was certainly a traitor to the Empire.” “Baras fooled no one,” Zariel said disparagingly. “The Dark Council—” “Turned a blind eye because it suited them. The Emperor ought to purge the whole lot of them.” Janeth sighed heavily. “Arden, you can’t say those things.” “I know you’re thinking them, too.” “It doesn’t matter what I think.” “You’re right. It doesn’t.” There was a long moment of silence. Zariel looked at the door. “Do you think they’re really—” “Absolutely,” Janeth murmured. “Aren’t you glad this place is soundproofed?” “Disgusting.” “To be fair to Ekari, the Wrath is very beautiful.” “Vorin,” Zariel said dangerously. “I can appreciate her aesthetically, can’t I?” “I don’t trust you around Sith women. Not after what happened.” Janeth stood very still. “We agreed not to talk about that.” “This is why we shouldn’t be allowed to have relationships.” “Yes, you’re plenty evidence for that argument.” Zariel turned and put her back against the wall again. “I know.” “Wait a minute,” Janeth said, still facing her. “That’s what’s really bothering you, isn’t it? The Wrath is in there getting cozy with someone, and you’re upset because you think she should be a celibate bride of the Emperor or some ********.” “I—well—I—” Zariel stuttered. “Well, yes.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Janeth said scornfully. “She may be the Wrath, but she’s still a Sith like any other. Passion is part of their bloody code!” “If she were like any other Sith, the Emperor would not have chosen her.” “I think you’re reading too much into this. The Emperor chose her, sure, but only to kill things for him and remind the Dark Council to be good little boys and girls. We are the true devoted ones.” “I suppose you could be right,” Zariel said reluctantly. “It still bothers me.” “Oh, relax. It’s just one night. Tomorrow we’ll be following her around while she puts the fear of the Emperor into people, just like normal.” “None of this was what I was expecting when we were given this assignment,” Zariel admitted. “I try not to expect anything. It makes following orders easier. Besides, we had no way of knowing what it would be like. The old Wrath—” “Shut up!” Zariel said sharply. “And to think, you tell me not to say things!” “It just slipped out.” “Control yourself better, then.” “Not to worry. I can hold my tongue.” “Good. I don’t want to have to cut it out.” Janeth turned away from Zariel and back towards the hallway. “What time is it?” “Probably around 0400.” “How many nights do you think we’ve spent standing outside a door?” “As many as we’ve needed to.” Janeth adjusted his helmet and stood slightly straighter. “Fair enough.”

Marr is very good at that. Especially since they fixed the clipping issues with his hood. This entire section had me giggling, because it's that kind of a day apparently, but this bit drew out the full cackles.

Alaurin, if you or anyone else wants to read the original thread, it's here. It's really not required, since the plot of this story is mostly different, but I suppose if you want to look at it, I can't stop you. Please disregard my horribly awkward author's notes. I was young and foolish. Five Sith Academy, Korriban 13 ATC A’tro had just made it up the stairs to the second level of the Academy when she paused, seeing someone unexpectedly familiar standing just a few feet away. It was a male Sith Pureblood dressed in plain, practical armor that was designed for mobility rather than defense. He had the crimson skin that was most common to their species compared to A’tro’s copper. His head was completely hairless, with a heavy set of ridges crowning his brow and his chin extending into two distinct spiky protrusions. Ornate golden jewelry decorated his ears and nose. A’tro hadn’t seen that face in years, but she knew who he was. He had to be. She started walking towards him, noticing after a moment that he was conversing with a slight figure concealed by a hooded black robe. She hesitated at that, unsure if she was willing to interrupt another Sith’s business, but by then she was close enough that he looked up and saw her. His bright red eyes went wide, and he looked from her to the Imperial Guards behind her and back again. A’tro could almost see him making several realizations at once as he bowed deeply before her, subtly motioning for his hooded companion to do the same. “Lord Wrath,” he said. “Forgive me for not acknowledging your presence sooner.” A’tro flicked one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Never mind that. Savadar Ekari, isn’t it?” “Yes, my lord. I’m honored that you know me.” A’tro found herself hesitating, uncertain of how to handle the situation. She couldn’t acknowledge him officially, not with her old identity, but… “You were an associate of K’hera Dhakar.” Savadar nodded. “I was saddened to hear of her death.” There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, some emotion that A’tro couldn’t quite place. “As it happens,” A’tro said, trying not to sound overly awkward but feeling it nonetheless, “I was also familiar with Dhakar prior to her unfortunate disappearance. Perhaps we could meet sometime in a more private location and discuss our old friend?” Savadar’s brow furrowed slightly. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.” “Excellent. I’ll be in touch.” A’tro looked over at the hooded figure who was standing a few steps behind him. “Who is this?” Savadar gave a small start. “Forgive my rudeness for not making proper introductions.” He motioned the hooded figure forward. “Lord Wrath, this is my apprentice, Kettrien Byrd.” Kettrien bowed very low. “She’s a bit quiet,” Savadar continued, “but she is very strong in the Force. I was just showing her around Korriban.” “I won’t keep you,” A’tro said. “I have business of my own to attend to. I will contact you later, however.” “Of course, Wrath,” Savadar said pleasantly. “I look forward to it.” He set off past A’tro and down the stairs, giving Janeth and Zariel a furtive look. Kettrien trailed after him. A’tro watched him go, thinking hard. She should have expected that she would encounter someone from her old life sooner or later. She should have expected Savadar in particular, given his family’s prominence in the Imperial economic scene. They had been close, once. Very close, though she had abandoned that when Darth Evendre had taken her as an apprentice. That note in his voice when he said he’d been saddened by news of her death, though… Sincerity, that was what it was. Perhaps this was what she needed to finally put Quinn out of her mind for good. She was still thinking it over as she took the elevator to the upper level of the Academy and made her way to the Dark Council chamber. It was not yet time for the meeting to officially start, but three of the Council’s members were already there in person. “Hello, Wrath,” Darth Vowrawn greeted her as she walked in. “It’s a pleasure to see you, as always. We were just waiting for Marr to connect.” A’tro nodded in acknowledgment as she walked past him and took a seat in the chair that had belonged to Darth Baras. Directly across the room, Darth Nox winked at her as she continued the diatribe she had been in the middle of when A’tro arrived. “And fifthly, you’ve left yourself no room to maneuver. The Republic may be spread thin on the near edge of the system, but it would be simplicity itself for them to close in and cut you off.” She made a snipping gesture with one black-gloved hand. “In conclusion, your strategy is completely flawed, and when we lose that sector, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Darth Ravage, seated to A’tro’s left, let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. “There is nothing wrong with my strategy. You are being too cautious. Creeping around like a Baldavian pocket hare will not win a war.” “Neither will rashly overextending our forces and acting surprised when it doesn’t work,” Nox countered. “Aggressive tactics are the only way to deal with the Republic. Given the chance, they will dig in, and it will take years to extricate them.” “And while they hide in their bunkers, we can plunder the system as we please.” Nox smiled sweetly. “Contrary to popular Sith doctrine, a little patience can go a long way.” “Clearly, you have never fought in a prolonged military engagement. Your advice is neither wanted nor needed.” “Touchy, touchy,” Nox sighed. “Is a little civil discourse too much to ask for?” “I will be civil,” Ravage said through gritted teeth, “when you stop trying to dictate how to fight a war in which you have yet to participate.” “Funny, I don’t see you on the front lines.” A’tro looked over at Vowrawn. “Do they always do this?” Vowrawn nodded. “Entertaining, isn’t it?” “—more to commanding my sphere than strutting about with soldiers,” Ravage said, continuing to glare at Nox. “I think you’re just afraid that Marr will make you look bad,” Nox said archly. “Which is, of course, entirely understandable, since he’s been out there crushing the Republic since the war started, while you continue to lounge around Kaas City doing…what is it that you do, exactly?” “I give instruction to the fleets under my command,” Ravage retorted. “I would suggest that you demonstrate your woefully inept notions of military strategy with your own forces, but of course, you don’t have any. Such a shame.” Nox pursed her lips. “I do find it quite interesting that even with those fleets, you seem to have accomplished very little. Perhaps we ought to rename the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy to Posturing and Empty Threats.” “Strong words from a woman who leads a knitting circle of glorified trivia gatherers.” Nox tittered behind one hand. “Now, now, Ravage, that’s not very diplomatic of you, is it? I can’t imagine why anyone would put you in charge of that sphere.” Ravage leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I earned my seat on the Council. I didn’t dispatch one raving lunatic and expect everything to be handed to me on an aurodium platter.” “You seem awfully bent out of shape about my promotion for someone who has said on multiple occasions that the Sith have too many rules.” “How many times will you take that out of context? The Sith Order needs laws and structure in order to function. It is the traditionalists’ insistence on dressing up killing with pretty rituals and pretending that somehow makes it civilized that I take issue with.” “So you want us to be both structured and barbaric? That makes no sense.” “That is not what I am saying.” Ravage sighed in obvious irritation. “The Kaggath, and all the other rituals like it, promote the idea that murder is only socially acceptable when you give it a fancy name and pretend that you’re following some code of honor. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it doesn’t matter how much you preen and tell yourself and all your friends what a heroic little Sith you are. At the end of the day, either your enemy is dead, or you are. Surrounding it in pretense is a waste of time.” Nox raised an eyebrow. “That’s a nice speech. Did you practice?” “He’s been having this argument with someone at least once a month for the past ten years,” Vowrawn put in. “Yes, I have,” Ravage snapped. “Because this Council has continued to select members who so desperately cling to the way things were thirty years ago that they have lost touch with reality.” “How convenient, then, that our illustrious colleagues keep getting themselves killed,” Nox murmured. Before anyone could reply, the holoprojector built into the base of the chair to Nox’s right flickered and came to life, blue light resolving itself into the image of Darth Marr. “I have little time to spare,” Marr said. His tone, as always, seemed to suggest that he took every unnecessary word as a personal affront. “Our forces are holding steady in this sector, and the next offensive should push the Republic into a retreat.” His masked visage turned slightly. “I see you have finally joined us, Wrath. Good.” “Yes,” A’tro said. “I wanted to discuss the Sphere of Military Offense.” “With the death of Darth Baras, that sphere is currently leaderless,” Marr said. “I assume you are bringing this up because you wish to assume that role yourself.” Definitely not one to mince words, A’tro thought. “That is correct.” Marr nodded once. “You removed the threat that Baras posed to the stability of the Empire. You have the right to succeed him. I will not object.” “It is…an unprecedented situation, to be sure,” Vowrawn said. “But we must adapt to the changing times, or find ourselves in over our heads. I, for one, welcome you to our ranks, Wrath.” “As do I,” Ravage added, inclining his head in A’tro’s direction. “It seems only fitting.” Nox gave him a withering look. “You can’t be serious.” “She’s already a Darth, and the Emperor’s Wrath.” Ravage raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be the only one to object?” “Certainly not,” Nox said coolly. “I believe the Council would do well to have you as one of its number, Wrath.” “It is settled then,” Marr said. A’tro looked around the mostly empty room. “What about the others?” “This isn’t a democracy,” Ravage pointed out. He turned towards A’tro and smiled. “If anyone objects…kill them.” Nox rolled her eyes. “Don’t flirt with her. It’s disrespectful.” “Enough, both of you,” Marr said before Ravage could respond. “The war will not wait while you bicker.” A’tro folded her hands in her lap and allowed herself a small, subtle smile of victory. This was it. She had risen as high as it was possible for a Sith to go. She had won. Marr was right, though. The war would not wait.

I'm picturing Arkous backpedaling out of the room in the most cartoonish possible fashion--legs a circular blur, dust clouds stirring up, the whole nine yards. The Republic version of Forged Alliances really misses out on the sheer volume of ham that man produces. It's astonishing.

Yeeesss, Insanity Company! This can only go well.

Four Sith Academy, Korriban 13 ATC It was A’tro’s first time back in the Sith Academy since she had killed Baras. She found herself the recipient of more than a few looks as she made her way through the corridors with two Imperial Guards in tow. Some, from older Sith and overseers, were speculative. The acolytes’ reactions were largely fearful, while a few who likely had more ambition than sense eyed her with open envy. Those would not last. All bowed to her respectfully as she passed, however. While an assembly of the entire Dark Council was rare, there were always a few of its members who regularly gathered on Korriban to discuss current affairs and play politics. That business would start in a few hours; until then, A’tro had a different appointment to keep. She made her way through the mazelike halls with Janeth and Zariel trailing dutifully behind her. As they passed into one of the older parts of the Academy structure, the corridors narrowed considerably. The Guardsmen continued to walk shoulder to shoulder, forcing the few acolytes they encountered to stand against the nearest wall or be run down. While not at all subtle, they added an entirely new element of intimidation to her presence. This could definitely be used to her advantage when dealing with the military or lesser Sith. She could not imagine why she would ever need to talk to any civilians, but the Guardsmen would probably be useful then, too. Having reached her destination, an unmarked door deep in the lowest levels of the Academy, she turned to face her escort. “You will wait outside until my business is concluded,” she ordered. “Yes, my lord,” said Zariel, who seemed to speak for the two of them. Both bowed and moved to stand on either side of the door. A’tro nodded once and moved up to the door. She ignored the keypad—a Dark Lord of the Sith went where she pleased, and had no need to ask for permission to enter. Instead, she grasped the door with the Force, undid the locking mechanism, and forced it open. As she stepped inside, she released her mental hold, and the door slid shut with a whirr of strained servomotors. The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate the standard-issue desk that sat about two meters back from where A’tro stood. A dark red carpet covered the floor, and the walls were adorned with several portions of stone friezes that, judging by the red coloration of the stone, had been chiseled directly off Korriban’s tombs. Behind the desk sat a Sith Pureblood woman dressed in traditional red and black robes. While A’tro knew she was in her late forties, there was little sign of ageing on her copper skin, which was just a few shades redder than A’tro’s own. They had the same rust-colored hair, but there was only a trace resemblance between their faces, which was good. A’tro had no desire to be reminded of her relationship to this woman. “Overseer,” she said curtly. “I believe we have something to discuss.” Ravinia Dhakar looked up from the computer built into her desk. She smiled, an expression that did not reach her orange eyes. “I wondered when you would come by. It’s been almost four years.” A’tro scowled. “You will address me with respect.” Ravinia inclined her head. “I apologize if I presumed…Lord Wrath. Even Lords of the Sith tend to relax the formalities with family.” A’tro’s scowl deepened; the conversation was going exactly where she had known it would, and the fact that she had seen it coming was only making her more annoyed. “You may be my mother’s sister, but that does not make us family. My title will be good enough for you, Overseer.” Ravinia’s expression turned somber, though her eyes remained hungry. “Are you aware that your mother is dead, my lord?” “Good riddance,” A’tro snapped, her left wrist twinging softly in remembered pain. “I’m not here to chat about the past.” The ridges on Ravinia’s brow lifted away from her eyes. “With, of course, all due respect, I was under the impression that you’d come here to discuss the debt you owe me.” “I did. So tell me, what exactly is it that you think you’re going to get from me in return?” Ravinia steepled her fingers together in front of her. “I have given the matter some thought.” “I’m sure you have,” A’tro muttered. “While I certainly enjoyed reaping the rewards of exposing a traitor to the Empire, concealing her apprentice’s fate was no easy matter.” Ravinia manipulated the controls of her computer. “I had to bribe the proper officials to have K’hera Dhakar declared dead, arrange for some semblance of documentation under your new name—it suits you, my lord—which required yet more bribes, arrange transportation… I have the expenses tallied here.” “If all you wanted from me were credits, we would have settled this matter years ago.” “Indeed.” Ravinia made another entry on the computer. “I could have smuggled you off Dromund Kaas and left it at that, but I did not. I convinced Tremel to bring you here so that you had an opportunity to start your life over again and rise high among the Sith under a master who was not a Jedi spy, because I knew that you would eventually find yourself in a position to make it worth my while.” “Let me guess,” A’tro said darkly. “You want power.” “Don’t we all?” Ravinia smiled. “I’ve always fancied the sound of ‘Lord Ravinia.’ Perhaps some property, as well? Your father still lives in the old Dhakar estate, but surely a scholar doesn’t need all that space—” “No.” “‘No’?” Ravinia echoed, her eyes widening. “You cannot refuse me, not after everything I’ve done for you!” “Your assistance was useful, true. But I have no intention of giving you anything.” Ravinia smiled again, showing pointed teeth. “You are free to do as you like…my lord. It would be a shame, however, if the Dark Council were to learn that Darth Evendre’s apprentice is still alive, under a new name, the disciple of a traitor in their very midst…” “Do not presume to think that you can simply blackmail me,” A’tro said coldly. “Any accusation you make will be your word against mine, and my word carries the authority of the Emperor himself.” “Not if I have proof—” A’tro reached out with one hand, the dark side mimicking her gesture and seizing Ravinia by the throat. Her eyes went very wide, and her hands flew vainly to her neck. A’tro could feel her trying in vain to use the Force to dislodge her grip. “It seems you misunderstand,” A’tro told her. “Were I in any other position, I would likely be obligated to give you something in exchange for your silence. But I am the Emperor’s Wrath, and to speak against me is treason.” She closed her hand into a fist and drew it towards her, lifting Ravinia out of her chair and throwing her to the ground in a heap at her feet. “You will die now,” A’tro said, and drew one lightsaber with her left hand. Ravinia pushed herself up just enough to stare at A’tro. The hunger in her orange eyes had given way to fear. “Even a Dark Lord cannot simply execute an overseer of the Korriban Academy!” “I killed your friend Tremel when I was only an acolyte. You’ll be replaced easily enough.” Ravinia was silent for a long moment. “If…if I swear to keep your true past a secret,” she said finally, each word sounding as if it were being wrenched from her, “Will you…let me live?” “Your word means less than nothing to me.” A’tro lifted her blade, ready to strike. “Wait!” Ravinia choked out. A’tro could almost hear her swallowing her pride. “I—I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you say.” “You’re a liability,” A’tro said softly, almost to herself. “And liabilities have to be removed.” The blade came down. As A’tro strode out of the room and into the hallway, Zariel and Janeth fell into step behind her. “In a few minutes, contact Academy security,” A’tro said. “Inform them that Overseer Ravinia has suffered an unfortunate accident.” “Yes, Lord Wrath,” Zariel said in a tone that indicated she understood all too well. A’tro adjusted her gloves and continued on.

Both. Definitely both. That is an incredibly good point there. Too bad the game never acknowledges that. Definitely a good reason for an Inquisitor to start getting suspicious of the circumstances. talos come back we need you I'm excited to see what happens next.

Glad to see Nalenne and crew making a comeback! Hijinx will undoubtedly ensue.

Three The Citadel, Dromund Kaas 13 ATC A’tro had set up her office with her desk at a slight diagonal away from the door. This meant that when she sat behind it and faced straight ahead, she was not looking directly at whoever might be in the room. It was a strategic choice, intended to force visitors to feel that they had to work to earn her full attention. She was starting to realize that the layout also gave her an excuse to avoid looking at the one person she really didn’t want to see. Captain Malavai Quinn stood at attention in the center of the room. He had been standing there, straight and rigid as a post, for several minutes, and A’tro had no intention of letting him relax. Let him be as uncomfortable in her presence as she was in his. She quested outward with the Force, trying to get a sense of his emotions, and found nothing. She had never been very good at reading people. She let the moments drag on, one after another, until she had finished the latest report from Corellia. At last, she closed the report, brought up a new document, and let her gaze turn ever so slightly towards the center of the room. “Captain Quinn,” she said in the tone of one discussing the weather. “I believe that your talents would be best put to use within the Imperial military directly. To that end, you have been reassigned to the command of Moff Aurelius Drayle, effective immediately.” A’tro forced herself to turn her head and look at him straight on. His face bore the same deliberately blank expression it always had. “I trust you understand,” A’tro said, feeling the weight of the words as they emerged into the air to hang for a moment, then fall like mountains. “Yes, my lord,” Quinn replied evenly. A’tro wondered if this was all an act, or if he really didn’t care. She could never tell with him anymore. “That will be all, Captain. Dismissed.” He bowed to her—a gratifying sight, she had to admit—and left. The moment the doors closed behind him, A’tro slumped over in her chair with a heavy sigh. That had been entirely too difficult. Clearly, putting Quinn as far away from her as possible was the best option. Reaching up behind her head, she removed the tie from her hair, then ran a hand through the rust-colored locks. It was done. Quinn was gone, the viper in her bed reduced to just another cog in the Imperial war machine. I’ll miss him. She suppressed the thought as soon as it surfaced, but it was there nonetheless. ***** The next day, A’tro received a call from Servant One. “Wrath,” he said immediately. “You have returned to Dromund Kaas.” “Our most vital campaigns are stable,” A’tro replied, unconsciously putting her hands behind her back in an Imperial parade rest. “I felt it best to return to the capital and—” Servant One cut her off. “You misunderstand. Explanations for your actions are not required.” A’tro nodded slowly, keeping her face impassive. “The Emperor is pleased with his Wrath,” Servant One continued. “You have done well.” “It has been my honor to serve our Emperor.” “Yes,” Servant One said blandly. “Your dedication will be rewarded. I trust I need not explain to you the power of the Emperor’s chosen guardsmen?” “The Imperial Guards live up to their reputation,” A’tro said. She realized what she was doing with her hands and jerked them down to her sides. “Two of the Guard’s most capable members have been assigned to your service. You will find them awaiting your command outside your chambers.” A’tro frowned. “I am grateful, but I don’t believe I require bodyguards.” “They will do more than protect you. They are a symbol of the Emperor’s favor. With them at your side, all will know that you are truly his Wrath.” “I believe I understand,” A’tro said slowly. The loyalty of the Imperial Guard could not be coerced. They answered only to the Emperor himself, and as such, only he could have commanded them to obey her. As symbols went, it was certainly a powerful one. “Good. The Emperor is satisfied with you for now, but do not become complacent. You will not be permitted to repeat the mistakes of your predecessor.” An icy claw of fear raked its way down her spine. “I am the Emperor’s loyal and humble servant.” “Of course. Servant One out.” The transmission ended. A’tro took several deep breaths. The cold claw had lodged itself in her gut. The Emperor’s Hand had never explained how or why the position of Wrath had become vacant. Every Sith with any political savvy had known who the Emperor’s Wrath was, even if they dared not speak of him. The Wrath was the Emperor’s right hand, and above the ordinary squabbling of lesser Sith. The old Wrath likely had not been eliminated by rivals. If he had fallen in battle, the Republic surely would have claimed the credit for such an impressive victory. That left two possibilities: either he had failed the Emperor and been cast aside, or… Her resources were few, given that she was new to the Dark Council and Imperial Intelligence was still effectively disbanded, but she had made subtle inquiries, with disturbing results. Shortly before the Emperor’s Hand had first contacted her, task forces of the Imperial Guard had been dispatched all across Imperial space and beyond, sweeping through system after system. As if they were hunting someone. It was a ludicrous notion, but A’tro found it haunted her nonetheless. Could the former Wrath have turned traitor? Surely it was impossible that a Sith of such high rank, so trusted by the Emperor, would ever betray that trust. Lesser Sith might falter in their convictions; she knew that far too well. But not an Emperor’s Wrath. On some odd level, she found that she was actually grateful to the old Wrath, whatever his fate. Had the Emperor’s Hand not intervened, she would have likely perished in Baras’ trap on Quesh. But the Emperor had needed someone, and out of all the Sith in the Empire, he had chosen her. She had wondered why, at first, but there was no point to that now, just as there was no point in speculating over the fate of her predecessor. It was time to meet these Imperial Guards who had been assigned to her. She moved away from the holoterminal and checked the monitor that displayed the hallway outside her apartment. Sure enough, two figures in the distinctive red armor of the Emperor’s elite soldiers stood by her door. One was a head taller than the other, while the shorter of the pair had a more slender and curved figure, suggesting at a woman under the all-concealing red. Interesting, A’tro thought. She had seen a fair number of the Imperial Guard on Corellia, but only a few of them were women. She went to the door and opened it. The two guards immediately turned to face her, bowing in unison. “Lord Wrath,” the shorter one said in a deep, but definitely female voice. “We have been instructed to present ourselves to you for induction into your service.” “Yes, I’ve been informed,” A’tro said. “Come with me.” She turned and walked further into her antechamber, trusting that they would follow. The sound of footsteps and the door closing confirmed her instinct. “Now, then,” she continued, turning back to face them. “Each of you, show me your face and tell me your name and rank. I’d like to know who I’ll be dealing with.” They hesitated for a moment, then removed their red helmets. The tall guard was a man who looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties, with a hard, angular face and steely gray eyes. His hair was shaved close to his head, and he had a spectacular set of scars that slashed across his face and up over his scalp, probably from the claws of some wild animal. “Vorin Janeth, my lord,” he said. His voice was gravelly, as if he didn’t use it much. “I’m Arden Zariel,” his female compatriot said. Of a similar age to Janeth, she had a cybernetic implant that mostly covered a patch of scar tissue on the right side of her pale face. Her gray-streaked black hair was cut short, and she had dark blue eyes that unsettlingly reminded A’tro of Quinn. “As we now serve you exclusively, we are outside the normal military chain of command. Only you and the Emperor himself have the authority to direct us, my lord.” So I keep hearing. “Very well. I look forward to working with you both. While I am on Dromund Kaas, you will probably not see combat. In the field, however, I trust you are capable of battling any enemies I might face?” Zariel inclined her head. “Rest assured, Lord Wrath, Janeth and I have slain many Jedi.” She hesitated for a moment. “And many Sith.” There it was—both threat and reminder. The guardsmen were there to do more than protect her. They were there to watch her. And if I fail, or show any signs of disloyalty, I’m sure they have orders to kill me, A’tro thought grimly. This “gift” may be more trouble than it’s worth. “Excellent,” she said smoothly, careful to betray no trace of her misgivings. “I will call on you tomorrow to accompany me on some business here in the capital. Until then, you are dismissed.” Zariel and Janeth bowed, put their helmets on, and left the room, all in perfect unison that must have taken practice. When they were gone, A’tro let her brow furrow into a worried frown. She was confident in her ability to carry out her duties, but the presence of the two guardsmen complicated things. They would probably report her every move to the Emperor’s Hand. It was just as well that she had settled matters with her personal life. She had to be conscious of the fact that her every move was now a reflection on the Emperor himself. Her life was over. The time of the Emperor’s Wrath had begun.

Thank you all for the comments! It's nice to be back. Two The Citadel, Dromund Kaas 13 ATC "I'm ever so pleased that you agreed to meet with me, Wrath," Darth Nox said cheerfully. The newest member of the Dark Council was a fair-skinned human woman with long, midnight black hair and pale gray eyes. Her face, while not conventionally beautiful, was nonetheless quite attractive, with a tapered jaw, prominent cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose. She had chosen to forego traditional Sith robes in favor of a high-collared white dress with embroidered gold accents. A'tro had been present during Nox's climactic duel with Darth Thanaton in the Council chamber. Her conduct then made A'tro inclined to like her, but she definitely didn't trust her. Nox was dangerous. That danger, however, was why A'tro had agreed to meet with her in the first place. "The pleasure is mine," she said smoothly. "I was eager to once again offer my congratulations on your victory over Thanaton." The corners of Nox's scarlet mouth turned upwards. "Thank you." They were meeting in one of the public seating areas of the Citadel, an array of chairs and couches arranged in front of a large window giving a grand view of the city. Such places were good locations for Sith to hold meetings, as one could carry on a private conversation if one was quiet, but it was public enough that only the boldest would try for a violent power grab. Nox moved over to a chair by the window, floating across the floor like a ghost in her white dress. A’tro took a seat across from her, folding her hands in her lap, but taking care not to intertwine her fingers too tightly in case her lightsabers were needed. This was a public space, but this was also Darth Nox. "I must admit," Nox said, "I'm curious as to what you intend to do with your new position." A'tro studied the metal plate on the back of her right gauntlet for a long moment, contemplating her answer. "I defeated Darth Baras in single combat," she said finally. "By rights, his seat on the Dark Council belongs to me." "Ambitious," Nox said admiringly. "To be the Emperor's Wrath and a member of the Dark Council... I doubt the others will like it." "I'm not giving them a choice." Nox chuckled. "I like you, Wrath." "I'm flattered. Might I ask what you intend to do with your own position, Nox?" "Oh...this and that." Her enigmatic smile returned in full force. "The Sphere of Ancient Knowledge will keep me satisfied for the time being." "I must admit, I look forward to seeing where you go." Nox's smile widened. "You may be the only one. I get the sense that certain members of our illustrious Council are not overly fond of me." "Such things are to be expected." “Still, it’s dreadfully inconvenient when one is trying to get things done. Especially inconvenient for the assassins, since they’re all dead now, but…I’m sure you understand.” “As it happens, I haven’t had many difficulties in that area,” A’tro admitted. Nox raised a thin black arch of an eyebrow. “You haven’t? No, of course you haven’t. You’re the Emperor’s Wrath; trying to assassinate you would be tantamount to a declaration against the Emperor himself. Sheer foolhardiness.” “Indeed.” “No wonder you’ve been so productive of late. You do impressive work, Wrath. Our colleagues had best be on their guard. I assume now that you’ve returned to proper civilization, you will be attending our meetings?” “Yes. It’s time I became involved.” “Good, good. I daresay you won’t have any difficulty finding somewhere to sit. There have been so many chairs open of late. It’s a little troubling.” “The loss of Council members is a blow, to be sure, but they will be replaced soon enough.” Nox pursed her lips and frowned. “Will they, though? I can’t help but notice that the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence has remained leaderless for some time.” “Imperial Intelligence is dissolved, now. I imagine that complicates things.” Nox’s frown deepened. “I am well aware. Whose foolhardy idea was that, anyway?” A’tro shrugged. Nox shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. The point is, there is an empty seat and no one has taken it.” “I’m not sure that the rest of the Council considers it empty. Darth Jadus is not dead, as far as we know.” “‘As far as we know is’ decidedly limited. No one has seen or heard from Jadus in a year, now.” “Considering what happened the last time he faked his demise, I understand the Council being reluctant to remove him from the picture.” “Hmm.” Nox frowned at the window for several moments. Then the expression wiped itself clear from her face, replaced by her usual half-smile. “You know, you weren’t at all what I was expecting.” A’tro stared at her blankly for a moment. “I wasn’t?” “Not at all. When I heard that there was a new Emperor’s Wrath, and that they would likely be present when I faced Thanaton, I imagined some colossus of muscle looming over the proceedings.” A’tro snorted. “Disappointed?” “Not at all. No one bothered telling me you were a woman, either. Which, I have to say, is quite refreshing. The Empire could use a few more Sith ladies in visible positions of power.” “On that, we can agree.” “Not that I think our male colleagues are incompetent. Except for Ravage. Still, I find myself the recipient of a great deal of attention.” A’tro looked from Nox’s face to her tight-fitting dress and back again several times. “I can’t imagine why.” “Six months in power and they’re already clambering for my favor in droves.” Nox sighed dramatically. “Ah, the benefits of power. But what about you, my dear? A Pureblood such as yourself is at the top of the aesthetic food chain to most Sith.” “I have no interest in such things.” “No? More for me, then.” Nox settled back in her chair, her half-smile arranging itself into a full, confident smirk. “You can go a great distance on looks alone. I learned that a long time ago.” “My strength can carry me all the distance I need to go.” “Funny you should say that,” Nox said lightly. “Because unless I’m getting the Sith Code completely wrong, we gain our strength through passion.” A’tro suppressed the urge to shake her head. She had witnessed Nox’s battle with Darth Thanaton, and the woman was as cold and calculating a fighter as she had ever seen. “I think the Code is referring to a different kind of passion.” “Is it, though? An awful lot of Jedi can be convinced to switch sides with the promise of a little…fraternization.” “I’ll give you that one,” A’tro said, thinking of some of the first questions Jaesa had asked her. “But I do not believe that ‘fraternization,’ as you put it, is as necessary as you make it sound. To indulge one’s appetites too far is weakness, plain and simple.” “You prefer your hedonism in controlled doses, then?” “I prefer not to waste my time.” “Ah, one of those types.” Nox nodded sagely. “Perhaps I’ve been reading this all wrong. A military man—or woman—would be much more to your fancy than a Sith.” Her smile widened. “I do love our troops. So disciplined. So eager to please.” Several extremely vivid memories flashed through A’tro’s mind. “I am finished with this line of conversation.” “Of course, of course. Now that we’ve established your lack of interest, I can conquer as I see fit. Excellent.” A’tro blinked. “You…you are strange, Nox.” “I know. But I would be very boring otherwise.”

An Imperial-centric story of politics, romance, and galactic strife. SW, SI, IA, and JK spoilers to follow. Departs from established game canon following the end of the class stories. Those who frequented the forums around summer and fall of 2012 may remember a little story of mine called Afterimages. Three years later, I've decided to redo the whole thing. The main characters are the same, but the plot is different and the writing is better. Hopefully, the result is something that I can reread in three years and not want to burn to the ground and start over. Reading the original thread is absolutely not necessary, but it may be found here. I hope you all like it too! One The Citadel, Dromund Kaas 13 ATC Her boots were loud on the polished black floor, each step cracking the foreboding silence of the Citadel. Although she was a slight figure, standing only a few inches above five feet in height, she moved with a confidence befitting the one who held the title of the Emperor’s Wrath. She was Pureblood Sith, with skin the color of burnished copper and dark red hair pulled back severely into a tail behind her head. Her face, marked with the ridges characteristic of her species, had been called beautiful in the past. Now, however, only a few beings dared meet the golden eyes of one of the most powerful Sith Lords in the Empire. Her name was A’tro. Darth A’tro now, though most only knew her by her title of Wrath. She found that she rather preferred it that way. Reputation was everything for a Sith, and hers was made all the more fearsome by lack of a name. And so she walked through the dark corridors of the Citadel, occasionally passing red-armored Imperial Guards, who bowed deeply as she passed. She had been on the front lines for almost six months, and it was pleasant to be back on Dromund Kaas, at the heart of the Empire’s power. After months of fighting, she was coming home. When she reached her destination, the entrance to an apartment located about halfway up the Citadel, she was not surprised to see a young human woman in plain black robes waiting outside the door. A’tro greeted her apprentice with a nod and approached the apartment’s keypad, entering in the code to unlock the door. “Master,” Jaesa Willsaam said with a graceful bow. “I’ve been waiting here, as you requested.” The door slid open with a soft hiss of motors. A’tro stepped inside, gesturing for Jaesa to follow. The apartment was situated on one edge of the building, and one wall of the antechamber was solid glass, giving a spectacular view of Kaas City and the jungle beyond. It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky was obscured by thick clouds, shrouding the landscape in darkness. As A’tro watched, droplets of rain began to splash against the window. “Did you deliver my request to the Ministry of War?” she asked abruptly. “Yes, Master.” A pause. “If I may,” Jaesa said carefully, “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but…why me?” A’tro turned away from the window to face her. “A Sith Lord of my rank does not waste time on errands. You are my apprentice, and as such, you represent my interests in matters that are too trivial for me to address personally.” Jaesa’s brows drew together slightly. “I understand, Master.” “If these assignments bore you, I suggest you bear in mind that we all serve the Empire in our own way.” “I thought I served you.” “Do not get impertinent with me, apprentice. The Empire is the Emperor, and I am his Wrath. You will find it is all very much the same thing.” “I apologize, Master,” Jaesa murmured. At least the Jedi taught her to be respectful, A’tro thought sourly. Sith apprentices tend to need the arrogance beaten out of them. “You’ll learn soon enough. It is my intention to remain in the capital for some time. As long as we are here, you must never forget your place in the order of things." “I’m not sure I understand what that place is,” Jaesa admitted. “The Sith are…more complicated than I expected.” “As my apprentice, you are on equal footing with most Sith who bear the title of Lord. Sometimes it will be necessary to remind them of that fact. Be bold, but not overconfident. Understand your own limitations.” “I think I can do that.” “Good.” A’tro turned away and started walking towards the door leading to the rest of the apartment. “You may go.” “Where am I supposed to stay?” “Figure it out.” I’ll teach her to be self-sufficient if it kills her. “But I—yes, Master.” A strong current of curiosity surfaced in her Force presence, and was quickly suppressed. A’tro paused and turned around. “Was there something you wanted?” Jaesa’s gaze darted away from her and she bit her lip, something A’tro had come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. “I just wondered why—” She shook her head. “It’s none of my business, Master. Forget I said anything.” A subtle chill ran down A’tro’s spine and settled in the pit of her stomach, where it quickly turned to a hot ember of anger. “Tell me.” Jaesa visibly steeled herself. “Why did you have Captain Quinn reassigned? I thought the two of you were—worked well together.” “I have my reasons,” A’tro said flatly. “And you were right to say that it is no business of yours. That will be all.” “Yes, Master.” Jaesa swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” She bowed quickly and fled. A’tro took a deep breath and laced her fingers together, cracking her knuckles one at a time. Outside, there was a distant peal of thunder. Hopefully, Jaesa’s acute perception had failed to detect A’tro’s doubts on the matter. The old adage of keep your friends close and your enemies closer kept coming to mind. Whether Quinn was a friend or an enemy, however, was the question that continued to press irksomely at the back of her mind. Or perhaps that was too complicated a way of looking at it, and he was simply a liability. And liabilities had to be removed, no matter the cost. to be continued.

Chapter Eight – The Mask Red Light District, Nar Shaddaa 19 ATC Vesania proceeded into the droid parts shop that housed Malgar’s operations and found it completely empty, which struck her as rather odd. She checked the back room where Malgar had talked to her; nothing. Further exploration revealed a turbolift that claimed to lead to a basement level. She pressed the button with a shrug, drawing her blaster just in case. She considered scanning the area quickly with the Force, then decided against it. Best to remain hidden; anyone could be watching. The turbolift doors opened. Vesania stepped out, then stopped short. She was in a large, rectangular room with a low ceiling and flickering lights that gave the scene a sickly yellow cast. The crates stacked on the far side of the room and the lab equipment near them suggested a spice enterprise. That in and of itself was nothing out of the ordinary for Nar Shaddaa. The bodies were an entirely different matter. They were everywhere, a variety of species in both armor and civilian clothing, sprawled across the floor from one end of the room to the other. Some still clutched blasters; others appeared to have been attempting to run. None appeared to have made it anywhere near the exit. A door beside the lab equipment caught her eye, and she made her way towards it, carefully stepping around the corpses. Of all the things she had been expecting to encounter, this was not one of them. Had Malgar decided to purge his organization? Based on her impression of him, he wasn’t the type to massacre his own people. Then again, one never knew on Nar Shaddaa. Vesania reached the door and opened it, raising her blaster. Beyond the door was a small room that contained a desk and a variety of computer equipment. Malgar’s Zabrak bodyguards lay in a crumbled heap near the door. Malgar himself was half-sitting against one wall, his head lolling forward in a way that suggested he too was deceased. Darth Ravage was leaning against the desk, arms folded across his chest. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he looked her way. “Hello, Nox.” She let her shields drop, and the Force came rushing back in a surging tide of mental sensation. “Ravage,” she said. “I see you’ve been busy.” “And I hear that you were working for this scum.” He nodded at Malgar. “I thought I would save you the trouble of resigning.” “You’re too kind,” Nox drawled. “Nothing like a pile of corpses to brighten a girl’s day. I don’t suppose you got me flowers, too?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “I’m always ridiculous.” “I’m starting to regret the fact that you aren’t dead.” “That reminds me, just how did you find out about that? Not to mention pinpointing my location.” “One of my Intelligence agents received an anonymous message on a secret, encrypted frequency. It seemed legitimate, so I thought I would investigate.” “Fair enough. But coming out here yourself, though…” Nox chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared.” “I wanted to get away from Marr for a little while,” Ravage said, seemingly unruffled. “Besides, you would have been suspicious of anyone claiming to represent me whom you did not know personally.” “I know most of your apprentices.” “You also have a tendency to murder them.” “That was just once!” “I thought it best to be cautious.” “That sounds strange coming from you, Ravage. Doesn’t that break some sort of orthodox Sith-y rule?” He half-smiled. “I’ve learned by now that with you, it’s best to forget the rules.” “And don’t you ever forget it.” She glanced down at the bodies on the floor. “Might we take this discussion elsewhere? I don’t want the smell getting into my clothes.” Ravage nodded, moving away from the desk and towards the doorway. “It’s time we left. We need to get back to Vaiken before Marr starts getting notions.” “What sort of notions?” She fell into step beside him as he picked his way across the room of carnage and back towards the turbolift. “I want to strike back at Jadus fast, hard, and soon. I can give you the full details of the situation on our way back.” “And Marr doesn’t agree, I take it.” “He wants to consolidate our forces, gather support from the rest of the Empire that hasn’t been completely taken over.” He stepped into the turbolift with an irritated sigh. “We can’t afford to sit around and wait. If we’re going to defeat Jadus, we need to move now, before he has time to settle.” “And given how well you and Marr tend to function when placed in a room together, I’m guessing that you are accomplishing absolutely nothing.” “Unfortunately. Which is where you come in.” “You need me to keep your focus on the war and not on being at each other’s throats.” “I hate to admit it, but that’s exactly what’s needed. A third voice, one that both of us respect.” Nox raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you respected me?” “It’s not personal.” “Of course not. After all, our relationship has never been anything but strictly professional.” “Nox…” “Yes?” The turbolift doors opened. Ravage shook his head and walked out. That man… Nox thought, chuckling silently. “Shall we do our best to depart this place without being seen?” “I’ve heard worse ideas from you.” “Admit it, you’re glad to have me back.” “No.”

*looks around furtively* I haven't forgotten about this thread, I swear. Chapter Seven – Keys ??? 19 ATC The room was dark and utterly silent. Vesania stood still, the sound of her breathing seeming to resonate throughout the undefined space like thunder. She tried to reach out to the Force, but found nothing. The glimmer of power that always lingered in the back of her mind was gone. “Welcome back, Cipher Thirteen,” said a voice. It was a woman’s voice, high and reedy, vowels stretched thin around a clipped Imperial accent. Vesania remembered that voice. You, she tried to say, but her mouth refused to work. A spotlight flickered on just out of arm’s reach in front of her. The small circle of illumination pooled around a thin female figure wrapped in a black Imperial Intelligence uniform. She had light red chin-length hair that was arranged to mostly cover the right half of her face, concealing one of her ice blue eyes. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, long, skeletal fingers entwined. “Yes, it’s me,” Watcher Ninety said. “My dear Cipher Thirteen. It’s so very good to see you after all this time.” A thought started to form in the back of Vesania’s mind, then dissolved and drifted away before she could grasp it. “I know that the last time we met was not under the best of circumstances,” Watcher Ninety murmured. “For that, I do apologize. I never wanted this for you. But I had to keep you safe from the Sith, protect you from their corruption. This was the only way.” “Was it really?” Vesania asked, startling herself with the sound of her own voice. Watcher Ninety stiffened, her hands tightening their hold on each other. “I had no choice. Sometimes it is necessary to make sacrifices for the good of the Empire…it was the only way to save your life.” “And if anyone had discovered I could be completely controlled with a single word? Death would be preferable to that existence.” “No one would have known, Cipher. Only I knew, and Keeper, of course. No one else. You were safe.” “Safe and a slave. Why did you do it? Was it so damn important to you to keep me hidden from the Sith?” Watcher Ninety’s single visible eye narrowed. “The Sith are a cancer in the body of the Empire, infecting everything they touch.” “The Sith are what makes the Empire what it is,” Vesania snapped. “Being one of them was my birthright, my destiny. You took that away from me.” “No.” “What?” “Being Sith was never your ‘destiny.’” The light around Watcher Ninety dimmed. “You decide that for yourself.” “Is that so? Funny, I hadn’t noticed, what with everyone trying to control me all my life.” “Don’t pout, Cipher,” Watcher Ninety said absently. “It doesn’t suit you.” “I do not pout, thank you very mu—” The light went out. ***** The man who had once been the Minister of Intelligence watched silently as Vesania’s body twitched. She lay comatose on the floor in his private room at the Edjj, the serum working its way through her. In truth, he had no idea if it would work. It might very well kill her. It was a chance worth taking, however. If the surviving Sith Lords of the Dark Council were to reclaim the Empire from Darth Jadus, they would need more than Vesania Serence. They would need Darth Nox. Another shudder ran through her body. Her eyes remained closed. The Minister sighed softly and turned his attention to his datapad. His message appeared to have been received several days ago while Vesania was gathering the required materials for the serum. He could only hope that it had been received by the right people. He had faith in the operatives who had once served under him, but who knew how many of them had fallen prey to Jadus’ manipulations? Operatives…like Cipher Nine. He had tried so hard to save her. She had slipped away despite his best efforts, dissolved into the shadows that lingered in Jadus’ wake. She had been such a bright young woman when she had first joined Intelligence, one of the best that Watcher Ninety had ever recruited. Now Watcher Ninety was dead, and Cipher Nine was as good as dead, and Cipher Thirteen was an agent no longer. Those three were among the finest Intelligence had to offer, and the Sith had destroyed them all in different ways. In many ways, the Sith had done more damage to the Empire than the Republic ever could. It would take a different breed of Sith to salvage everything. Vesania stirred again, her eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. She seemed to be starting to regain consciousness. A good sign. Everything would be up to her, now. ***** “Nox? Are you even listening to me?” Vesania blinked and looked up. She was sitting on her couch in her quarters in the Citadel on Dromund Kaas. Darth A’tro stood in front of her, arms folded across her armored chest. “Sorry, I must have drifted off,” Vesania said quickly. Where am I? What’s happening? One set of ridges on A’tro’s copper-skinned forehead rose towards her hairline. “You’ve seemed very distracted lately. Plotting something?” “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” “Yes, well, whatever you’re planning, you’ll have to do it without me around. I have some secret business of my own, and it’s probably going to take quite some time.” A’tro half-smiled down at her. “Don’t let the Empire run into the ground while I’m gone.” “As if it revolves around your continued presence,” Vesania scoffed. “The alternative is that it revolves around you, and that actually scares me.” The scene blurred, and suddenly she was lying on her back on a hard surface. She couldn’t see, and started to panic before realizing that her eyes were closed. She opened them quickly. “Welcome back,” the Minister said quietly. “How do you feel?” Vesania slowly sat up. “I don’t…I don’t feel any different.” “Good. It worked.” “What did you do?” “I reset your programming, gave you a new keyword.” He leaned over her and held out a hand; she took it and got to her feet. “So now no one can control me?” “Correct.” Vesania rolled her shoulders, easing the discomfort of lying on the floor from her muscles. “Well, no one except for you, anyway.” The Minister clasped his hands together behind his back. “I expect you’re going to kill me now. It’s the only way to be sure.” “I won’t enjoy it.” “Hm. You’re not like most Sith. I hope your time with us had something to do with that.” “I suppose it did.” He looked her calmly in the eyes. “Do what needs to be done, my lord. Don’t let Jadus destroy the Empire we worked so hard to protect.” Vesania nodded. “I promise.” It was a quick, clean kill, a single blaster shot to the head. There were worse ends for one of the finest agents Imperial Intelligence had ever produced. There were better ends for a man who had done everything in his power to serve his Empire. Regardless, it was done. Revenge, of a sort. A loose end securely tied and tucked away. She walked through the Edjj with none of the patrons the wiser that a murder had just been committed in one of the upper rooms. Such activities were entirely normal on Nar Shaddaa, after all, and the music was so loud that nothing short of an artillery barrage would be audible from the main room. As she exited the building, she nearly ran into a Zabrak in well-used heavy armor. “Watch it, human,” he grumbled. “Perhaps you should remove your head from your posterior and pay attention to your surroundings—wait a minute, you’re Normar Lanyt.” He crossed his arms and glared at her. “You got a problem?” Vesania smiled brightly. “I’m here to kill you.” “You’re kidding.” “No, absolutely no kidding happening here. I am completely sincere.” “You think you can take me?” “Well, actually…” she drawled, reaching inside her jacket and resting her fingers on a hidden compartment. Lanyt drew a pair of blasters. He was fast, but not nearly fast enough. He didn’t even have time to look surprised when Vesania ran him through with one blade of her lightsaber. She put the weapon away quickly, her surge of reckless adrenaline fading. That had been incredibly stupid. To hell with it, she thought. My mind is my own again. As soon as I get my money from Malgar, I can leave this planet. And then…it’s payback time. I chose not to include a description of Vesania going around and collecting mission items because I figured that if it was incredibly boring for me to think about, it would be incredibly boring for you to read.

Well. I'm back. Six - Strata Red Light District, Nar Shaddaa 19 ATC All things considered, Vesania decided, it had been a very good day. First she’d found an entire shipment of Mirage, practically begging to be sold on the black market. Then she’d stumbled across that weak-minded idiot Malgar and gotten a job in the process. At this rate, she would have enough credits to smuggle herself off Nar Shaddaa in no time. Where she would go from there was another question entirely, but it was best to take these things one step at a time. Now that she had sold most of the Mirage, it was time to pursue her assassination target. According to Malgar’s datapad, the bounty hunter Normar Lanyt often frequented a cantina called the Edjj. It was just outside said establishment that Vesania stood, loitering under a streetlamp and pretending to smoke while surveying the area. This was a nice part of the district, which on Nar Shaddaa meant that the streets were cleaner, the gangsters were classier, and all the letters in the neon sign above the Edjj’s entrance actually glowed. She blended right in with her sleek, dark jacket and pants, so she strode confidently up to the door and inside. Her first impression of the interior was that it was dark. Her second impression was that multicolored strobe lights did very little in the way of actual illumination. Trying to get her bearings, she moved slowly into the main room, which appeared to be lined with booths along the walls. The circular shape in the middle surrounded by silhouettes was probably a bar. Damn it, she thought. How am I supposed to spot Lanyt in here? She sidled along the edge of the room, trying to find a half-decent vantage point where there weren’t lights boring into her eyes every other second. Something that felt like a hand grabbed her by the arm and yanked. Caught off guard, she stumbled into the nearest booth. The hooded and cloaked humanoid figure that held her by the arm let go before she could try to twist free. She leaped onto the table, pinning the figure against the back of the booth with one arm and drawing her blaster with the other. “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Vesania demanded. The figure coughed and shook its head violently, dislodging its hood just enough for the flashing lights to reveal a long, angular face and sharp blue eyes. “You,” Vesania hissed. “My lord Nox,” said the man who had once been the Minister of Intelligence. “Although I doubt you would use that name here. There are matters that we need to discuss.” ***** Vaiken Spacedock 19 ATC “You said you had found something?” Darth Ravage asked. Lynet Vrine nodded. “Indeed, my lord. The search was even more successful than I had imagined possible.” “I’m surprised you accomplished it so quickly.” “As am I, but I won’t complain.” Lynet paused, her gaze shifting away from the Sith Lord. “The results were…unexpected.” Ravage frowned; it wasn’t like Lynet to dither. “Explain.” “As you know, my lord, during her rise to power Darth Nox called herself Vesania Serence. She was brought to Korriban with a shipment of Force-sensitive slaves under the name Kyalah Vern, who according to official records was a native of Balmorra who was enslaved following the Imperial conquest of said planet. Prior to that time, no information about her exists. However, I did find something else.” “Show me.” They were in the office of Ravage’s chambers on Vaiken, which included a holoterminal. Lynet took out her datapad and tapped busily at the screen. “Establishing remote connection…” she murmured. “There.” The holographic image of a human woman appeared. For a moment, Ravage thought it was Nox. But no, this woman’s face was different, more rounded than angular, with lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her black hair was pulled back into a tidy braided bun, and her gaze lacked Nox’s veiled intensity. “This is Imperial Intelligence operative Cipher Fourteen,” Lynet said. “According to the archives, her real name was Inarys Serence.” “Serence,” Ravage repeated. “As in Vesania Serence. And there’s no way that kind of resemblance can be coincidental.” “Indeed not, my lord. Inarys Serence died almost thirty years ago, but according to taxation records she had one child.” “Vesania.” “It seems the most likely conclusion.” “Thank you, Lynet,” Ravage said slowly, turning the new information over in his mind. “You’ve been most helpful. If that’s all, you may go.” Lynet bowed and departed. Ravage barely noticed. If Nox’s mother had been a Cipher Agent, then Nox would have been born an Imperial citizen. But if that was the case, how had her Force-sensitivity not been discovered at an early age? Few Sith were as strong in the Force as she, and it seemed strange that her potential had gone unnoticed for so long. It was almost infuriating to imagine such power escaping the Sith’s notice. She should have been brought to Korriban as a child, should have been properly instructed in the lore of the dark side so that by the time she had reached the prime of her life, nothing and no one could touch her… She should have been apprenticed to a Dark Council member, not some overambitious flake like Zash. Apprenticed to you, you mean, whispered the tiny, cynical voice in the back of his mind that sounded annoyingly like Darth Marr. Sith from birth, she would have been yours to watch. To guide. To possess. Ravage shook his head. He was being foolish. Nox was probably dead, and dwelling on her would accomplish nothing. This new information only compounded the mystery. ***** Red Light District, Nar Shaddaa 19 ATC It was considerably easier to see in one of the private rooms on the Edjj’s upper floor. Vesania sat in a chair across from the Minister—she had no idea how else to think of him—and tried to feign indifference. For once in her life, she failed miserably. “I can’t kill you, can I?” she said abruptly, breaking the silence. The Minister inclined his head. “Correct. Your programming does not allow it.” She nearly twitched at the word “programming.” Keep control, damn it. “What do you want from me?” “What I want is to benefit the Empire. My years of exile have not changed that.” “Such a patriot. I’d call it cute if it was anyone but you.” “I am under no illusions,” the Minister said blandly. “I know that I betrayed you, and that you would take your revenge if you could. That will have to wait, however.” “Theatric and cryptic,” Vesania sighed. “You haven’t changed. If only Watcher Ninety were here; then we could have a real reunion.” “Watcher Ninety is dead.” “Mm, not surprising. She did always hate the Sith. Not a healthy position to be in when they dissolve your organization.” “Precisely.” “I might have missed her, once, but not anymore.” She leaned forward. “Tell me what you want. My patience is wearing thin.” “Then I will be frank. The Empire needs you, and I know how to free you from the Castellan restraints.” Vesania raised an eyebrow. “Did I mishear, or did you just offer to rid me of this…problem?” “That is correct.” “Interesting. Tell me more.” “It is not a complex process, if you know what to do. First, you will need to obtain certain chemicals. I can provide you with the list. Then, your commands can be reset and overwritten.” “And then I’m going to kill you,” Vesania said pleasantly. “Just so we’re clear.” The Minister folded his hands in his lap. “I see your years as a Sith have given you their pettiness.” “‘Petty,’” she repeated. She took a deep, slow breath, then another. “You used me. Used my power to further Intelligence’s aims, used my need to hide from the Sith to keep me under your control. And when I was too dangerous, you tried to have me killed. That much I would have understood. That much is why I saved you when the Dark Council ordered your execution. But this…this thing in my head, corrupting my thoughts, corroding my will…this I will not bear. Does that truly seem so petty to you?” “Perhaps not,” the Minister conceded. “Very well, then. You obtain the chemicals, I release you from your programming so that you may return to the Empire in strength.” “If you really can deliver on that, I might consider letting you live. Get me off this planet, and I’ll even throw in a live vidstream when I kill Jadus.” The Minister’s mouth twitched. “You’re too kind.” Vesania cracked her knuckles loudly. “Let it never be said that I am not benevolent and magnanimous when the mood strikes me. Consider our arrangement made.” Let's see if I can get this train rolling again, shall we?

Oh, my goodness... This is amazing. Definitely worth the wait. I love the detail, the lighting, the...everything!

Aieeee, the cuteness! Happy birthday, SFC! <3

Heh, you have a point about Iriath. Now that he's crossed off "avenge wife" and "avenge daughter" from his schedule, there's still the little matter of "spoiler" and then he should be nice and revenge-free. As for who the Servants find to pick up the slack...that shall be sort of addressed momentarily. ...you are a terrible person and that was hilarious. And true. Servants - Corellia Corellia 11 ATC Two dark-robed figures stood on the rooftop of a Coronet City skyscraper, silhouetted against a sunset that sent scarlet streaks across the sky, as though mirroring the violence on the planet. "The Wrath fades," Servant Two whispered. Servant One shrugged. "As expected. This was a contingency measure, nothing more." "The false Voice still speaks," Servant Two quavered. "The Hand cannot slash the throat without a blade." "You worry too much," Servant One said dismissively. "Five and Eleven are on their way to Hoth as we speak. All according to plan." Servant Two stepped closer to the edge of the roof, spreading his arms as if to fly. "Do the embers smolder still?" he mused. "Can the fire burn hot after so long?" "Are you questioning the Emperor?" "The darkness is beyond right and wrong." Servant One shook his head. "This will work. Our master has foreseen it." "He sees all things," Servant Two agreed. "Star-rivers awash in blood. Will we live to see the flaying?" "We will be there in spirit, if not in body," Servant One said firmly. "That is our place." "And now the first stone falls from the crumbling mountain," Servant Two murmured, stepping back from the edge. "We'll have our Wrath, and this will be finished," Servant One agreed. "An old blade," Servant Two said. "Perhaps...will need to be re-sharpened." Servant One snorted. "Don't tell him that."

More! More! Moooooore!

Liking is good! We shall see. Quinn - Corellia They dragged him, bleeding, out of the gutter. Draahg's voice. "You are still useful." Iriath didn't stay to make sure he was dead...bad Iriath. <.< >.> *hides*

Sorry about the delays in updating... I've been playing the game rather than writing about it. Anyway, I'm pleased to see that you have all been enjoying the latest developments, and I hope this story continues to be fun! Iriath and Tessa - Corellia Aboard X-70B Phantom-class starship 11 ATC When Iriath returned to his ship, he found that nothing seemed to have changed during his absence. The door to his quarters was still shut, and Vector was still seated on the couch on the opposite side of the room. "We take it your mission was successful," Vector said as Iriath walked past. "Very," he replied. He glanced at the door, then back to Vector. "Has she—" Vector shook his head. Iriath sighed softly, then unlocked the door and slipped inside. Tessa was sitting on his bed, her holocom in her hand and activated. He recognized the blue image as being that of the young woman he'd met earlier, Jaesa Willsaam. "You're absolutely sure?" Jaesa was saying. Tessa met Iriath's gaze for a moment, then returned her attention to the hologram. "I'm sure, Jaesa." "I do understand, I guess," Jaesa said. "I just—will you be all right?" Tessa nodded. "What about you?" "I'll figure something out," Jaesa said determinedly. "Will I be hearing from you again?" "Probably not," Tessa said softly. Iriath frowned. What was going on? "Then goodbye, and may the Force be with you," Jaesa told her. "And with you," Tessa murmured, and closed the channel. "What was that about?" Iriath inquired, walking over to the bed. "Tsk!" Tessa snapped as he started to sit down. "You're covered in blood. Take the jacket off first. You'll ruin the sheets." That sounded much more like the old Tessa, but she didn't smile like she normally would have when she said the words. Still, if it meant that she was feeling better, he'd take what he could get. "It's my bed, I'll get blood on it if I want to," Iriath said wryly, removing his jacket anyway and tossing it to one side. She shook her head. "I thought they beat untidiness out of cadets their first week at the Academy." "Quite true. Cipher agents, however, can throw their clothes on the floor if they please." Tessa gave a small smile. It looked like it took some effort, but she still did it. It was a welcome sight. "I always had a feeling our apartment only ever stayed neat because of me." "It probably did," he conceded. He paused for a moment, then said cautiously, "You seem more like yourself." "I feel a little better," she said quietly. "I've made a decision that helped a lot, I think." Iriath raised an eyebrow. "Does this have to do with whatever it was you were discussing when I walked in?" "Mm," she said. Her smiled widened slightly. "I'm staying." "What do you mean?" he asked warily. Tessa took a deep breath. "I'm not going back," she said firmly. "I'm not going back to my crew. I called Jaesa and explained things to her; they'll disperse, go into hiding so that Baras doesn't go after them. As for me, I would like to stay here, help you with whatever it is you're doing." "But why?" Iriath asked, shaking his head. "Being Sith is who you are, Tessa. Surely you can't just walk away." "He was right, you know," she said distantly. "I'm a terrible Sith." "You shouldn't take what that bastard said seriously—" "I just want to help people," she insisted. "And that's—that's not what Sith do. So I've decided that I'm not going to be a Sith anymore." "Tessa," Iriath said, then paused, struggling for words. He should probably tell her to reconsider, tell her to go back, but at the same time, the prospect of having her with him was a very appealing one. He had missed her a great deal over the past few years, and having a trustworthy, trained Force-sensitive would be useful. "Stars, Tessa, are you absolutely sure about this?" "I am." "Then..." He hesitated again, then leaned over and hugged her tightly. "If this is truly what you want, then there's no one I'd rather have on my crew." And so we deviate from the game...