So, I realized that this story is bigger than just a delightfully frustrating romance between the Dark Lord and his stubborn little Jedi, and I am trying to adjust accordingly. But fear not!
This is still, at its core, "Temptation." But as I've grown and matured, so has the depth of the story I wish to tell. Thus, this reworking, reposting and renaming of my tale. There will be familiar bits and unfamiliar bits, and I'm sure some of you will be angry I tampered with anything.
Please, have an open mind and understand that I am only trying to give you the best product I can.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own, and am not affiliated in any way, with Bioware, LucasArts, Star Wars, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, or anything remotely resembling the officially licensed products. This is a work of fan fiction born from deep love of a story I felt utterly tied to when I played it. This story is not for profit and does not seek to compete with the original game in any way.
A tall figure, clad in a black, hooded cape, masked and encased in a suit of reddish-black armor stared out into the vast expanse of darkness before him, waiting. A battle was raging on around him, ships were exploding in balls of brilliantly flaming debris, laser fire was thick, vacillating between green and red, the Sith and the Republic battling for this small stretch of space. He seemed to almost be bored with the battle as it progressed, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, feet spread a little wider than shoulder width for balance as the ship rocked from the explosions that ripped through other craft's hulls and tried vainly to bring the ship he was on down with each hit.
He made a mental note to promote the young commander on his flagship to Vice Admiral – the man was a quick thinker on his feet, a formidable tactician, loyal, and perhaps most of all, had the gift of foresight that seemed to be lacking from so many other commanders. The man always calculated the risks long term, as well as short term, and it had already paid off many a time.
Turning his head slightly, he saw that a group of Jedi had boarded his flagship and were systematically making their way up to the command deck where he was currently standing. Suddenly, the door to the command deck came flying out of the wall, the duracrete explosion ripping the metal to shreds and allowing a contingent of Republic soldiers to flood the room. An intense firefight commenced, and yet still, he did not turn his gaze away from the stars. Two soldiers tried unsuccessfully to sneak up behind him; one met his end by being Force-thrust into the power conduit next to his armored body. The second was lifted off the ground and choked, though not fatally.
He felt the Jedi enter the room – three of them – and finally killed the man with a telepathic squeeze on his throat, his trachea collapsing with a sickening crunch and his neck snapping with an equally loud and visceral crack. If anything, the armored man's boredom only seemed to increase as the Jedi cautiously approached from behind him, the hum of their three lightsabers audible to his ears, even over the chaos that was ensuing outside the metal walls that protected them. He finally turned, calling his lightsaber to his right hand and twirling it once, lazily, and bringing it to a rest with the tip pointing towards the female in the front of the Jedi strike team, his crimson blade parallel to the floor and about shoulder height.
"You cannot win, Revan," the female in the front told him with a falsely confident voice. Revan could feel the fear rolling off of her in tidal waves, and commended her for her bravery to confront him, even though he could tell she knew she would likely die on this command deck. He felt a flicker of an emotion that seemed eerily familiar to empathy and stared hard at the young woman in front of him. She was of medium height, maybe 5'6", and had a slim but athletic build that was infinitely accentuated by the taupe body suit she wore that clung to her every curve. Her hair was a dark brunette and pulled back from her young face by two pigtails, one on either side. Her face itself glistened with sweat, making strands of her dark hair stick to her skin; Revan noticed at once the color of her eyes – a light grey that seemed to draw his eyes to hers, as much as he tried to look away.
"Bastila, we need to hurry," one of the other Jedi told her in a strained voice, obviously not happy with the situation either. Revan smiled beneath his mask – so this was the famous Bastila Shan, Padawan of the Jedi Order and student in the art of Battle Meditation. His smile quickly turned to a frown as he processed this information. Why would the Jedi Order send the one person who had been keeping them from being utterly defeated into battle, and to confront the Dark Lord of the Sith no less? Either they were very desperate, or they knew something he didn't, and Revan had a feeling it was the latter.
Ignoring that new information for the moment, Revan advanced slowly on the trio of Jedi in front of him, a satisfied smirk underneath his mask as they backed up at his pace, never letting him come any closer. He lunged suddenly, cutting down the Jedi to Bastila's left and watching her reaction as her friend's lifeless body dropped heavily to the metal floor with a dull thud. Her face remained impassive for the most part, but he could see the anger simmering beneath her grey orbs at his slaying of her companion. Revan cocked his head at the Jedi behind her and he sailed across the room, his flight abruptly halted by a sharp piece of debris. Bastila's head turned just enough to see the spray of blood and the red-slicked metal protruding from her ally's gut before she quickly turned back to Revan, her grip on her yellow lightsaber tightening in much the same way her stomach was knotting.
Revan watched her body, seeing the tenseness, the shallowness and rapidity of her breathing, the way her nostrils flared ever so slightly, the dilation of her pupils making her grey irises appear smaller. He couldn't suppress a smirk at her reaction, thinking how fear was the sister to arousal, their symptoms so similar. He advanced on her, making his lightsaber strikes light and probing and ensuring that she would be able to block them.
"Do not think me a fool, Revan - you're going to kill me," she growled at him, the intensity in her face making her even more attractive. "Stop mocking me; at least show me enough respect to end my life quickly."
Revan's smirk turned to a grin beneath his mask and he deactivated his lightsaber, clipping it back onto his belt. He spread his arms wide, challenging her silently to hit him, daring her to plunge her yellow lightsaber into his chest. Bastila's thrust was quick and precise, but even so, Revan easily sidestepped her attack. Grabbing her small wrists with one hand, he wrenched the saber from her grip and tossed it aside while his other arm clamped itself around her middle and kept her close enough so that she couldn't kick backwards to hurt him.
"Let me go you son of a–"
An explosion ripped through the command deck, slamming into Revan full force and hurling him and his prisoner to the ground with incredible force. Bastila smacked her head roughly against the metal floor and saw white explode across her field of vision, blackness threatening soon after. Somehow, she managed to stay conscious. Grunting under Revan's heavy weight, she wriggled around until she could push the Sith Lord off of her. He rolled to the side and hit the deck with a dull thump, his body unmoving. Blood formed in a pool underneath him as soon as his back hit the ground. Bastila knelt beside him, panic threatening to override her rational thought. The cool metal of a blaster pressed against her temple saved her having to think at all.
"Is he dead?" a rough, hoarse voice asked. The blaster did not tremble against her head; this man's hold was even.
She swallowed, barely shook her head. "No, but–"
"That's all I asked," he cut her off. "Stay right here, and if he dies, you die, Jedi."
The ship was beginning to break apart and its groans smothered her response. She stared back down at the man beneath her, thinking that she could end everything if she were to just let him die. Revan's death would mean an end to this bloody juggernaut of a civil war. Are you so sure of that? Malak would step in and continue Revan's offensive. His death is no guarantee of a resolution. Bastila frowned. It was true...Malak would simply continue the violence that Revan had begun - there would be no lull in the carnage. Revan's death would end up meaningless. A strong wave of compassion suddenly gripped her as she realized that she wouldn't want to die like this – helpless, bleeding out, at someone else's mercy – and she did the only thing she could think of to keep him, and herself, alive: she reached out through the Force and grasped the Dark Lord's feeble and quickly fading life signature, holding on for all she was worth.
The growls and screeches of the disintegrating ship faded from her hearing, and all that her senses perceived was the weak pulse that comprised the remainder of the Dark Lord. His life force was so dim, and hers so bright in comparison that it shocked her for a moment into inaction. A particularly tremulous thrum of his pulse spurred her on. This was not going to be a simple task. His life was fading so rapidly, and she had never attempted anything of this magnitude before.
Perhaps out of a foolish notion, Bastila laid her hands on his armored chest and slid them up to his neck, searching for a way to remove his mask. Her hands were shaking too violently and she quickly gave up, frustrated. She could not remove his mask, but her fingers had found his skin, and she pressed her fingertips against his flesh almost harshly. Bastila needed something of him to feel or see, something more than just this armored shell to attempt to save. She was disoriented, in pain, but determined. Focusing all of her energy into finding his Force signature once more, Bastila clawed through the death from the battle that swamped her senses and reached out with a fierce grasp to yank Revan's life back from the brink. It did not yield to her will easily.
The Dark Lord's existence was on its way out. He was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. His body simply hadn't followed suit; his soul had yet to become one with the Force. The young Jedi tried to fight this inevitability but found she was trapped in a losing battle. He continued to fade. Bastila realized that there was nothing left of him that was truly alive, and thus nothing left for him to hold on to – he needed to be tied to a living thing if he had any hopes of surviving. Without much thought to the consequences, Bastila tightened her hold on Revan's ebbing life and viciously yanked it back from death, twining it with her bright and strongly pulsing life, giving Revan an anchor into the world of the living. Conversely, this meant Bastila was drawn closer to death. Weakened by this and by the sheer effort it had taken to save this man, she felt her fingers slip from his skin and her eyes saw the world in a blurry sway. She had done it, though.
The Jedi did not believe in killing their prisoners, and she fully intended on completing her mission. One Sith soldier was no match for her, even in her weakened state – or so she thought just before her world exploded again into white, consciousness finally eluding her.
The Sith was a smarter man than she had planned for, and had been waiting patiently behind her while she did…some sort of Force magic to the Dark Lord. It absorbed all of her attention, making this 'sneak attack' laughably simple. The moment he perceived the arcane ritual to be over, he smashed the butt of his pistol into the back of her head and watched her slump to the deck.
"Too easy." With a grunt, he lashed the female Jedi to the Dark Lord and dragged them both to the escape pods. Plugging in coordinates, he shot them off first and followed quickly after. Not a moment too soon, as the structural integrity of the ship gave way, the craft disintegrating, lights going dim. The death of Revan's flagship was complete.
Malak watched with cold, calculating yellow eyes as his master floated unconscious in a kolto tank. Two weeks, and still he doesn't stir. Never have I seen him this close to death, and at such an inopportune time, the apprentice thought with annoyance. Everything would fall apart, were he to perish now. I cannot let him. Malak's massive hand closed like a vice around a Sith's neck, lifting him to eye level. "For every point his heart rate drops, I will break a bone in your body," he snarled, letting him go and marching out of the medical ward.
He was tempted to pay their Jedi prisoner a visit – he had heard she was beautiful and in possession of a fiery temper – but she was the least of his worries right now. It was barely controlled chaos with Revan's near-demise, something that infuriated Malak. This showed him that his master wanted things to fall apart if he died. Revan wanted him to fail. For just a moment he was sorely tempted to return to medbay and pull Revan's plug. Watch him flatline. It would be so easy…
No. That would be a foolish and impulsive action, even for you. You need Revan alive a while longer.
Yes – a short while, and then death would return for the soul it had been cheated of this time around.
(Days later)
"You appear perturbed, Mortimer."
The doctor glared at Revan. "You should be dead. I shouldn't be talking to you. And yet here you sit, as if you had just woken up from a damn nap!" he grunted. "Ridiculous…"
The Dark Lord's mouth gained a hint of a smile. "I am alive in large part due to your skill. There is a reason you are my personal physician."
"I don't want to have to save your life like that." The doctor leveled another glare at him. "Not that you'll listen to me, but you should get back in there for at least a few hours." He jerked a thumb towards the kolto tank.
"That won't be necessary. I am capable of healing myself," Revan replied, using the Force to do so as he spoke. "I would, however, take any kolto injections you prescribe."
"If you'll actually do them, then take these," Mortimer grumbled, well aware he was probably talking to himself at this point. Revan had asked about the kolto injections solely so that his doctor wouldn't lose any more of his hair to the encroaching grey it now showed. "One every four to six hours for five days. Don't skip. I know how busy you get."
"My position demands my full attention at all times; you know this. And you know that my visits always brighten your day."
"A joke?" the doctor said incredulously. "Forgive me for not laughing. I forgot you had a sense of humor."
The Sith Lord's expression did not change. "Joking is a luxury I am not normally allowed."
"You sacrifice too much, you know that? I know that this is a burden you think you have to bear, but you can't deny yourself the simple pleasures of life."
Revan gave him a dark smile. "I don't," he answered rather cryptically.
He only shook his head as the Dark Lord of the Sith slid down from the medical table.
Revan donned a black over robe to cover his shirtless torso and grabbed the package of kolto syringes from Mortimer's outstretched hand. "Thank you."
The doctor knew it was sincere. "Good thing you pay me so well," he joked morbidly, earning himself a smirk and a snort in return.
"Indeed." Revan pulled his hood up to obscure his face and exited the medical bay, quickly navigating the passages of the Leviathan and reaching his spacious room. He glanced at the virgin bed and mused that it likely wouldn't stay innocent for too long before sprawling his large body across its sheets and falling into a light but restful slumber.
(The next morning)
The guard posted outside of the prisoner's room felt a chill crawl up his spine as he saw Darth Revan round the corner, his stride purposeful but...hiding a limp. Straightening as much as he could, the guard waited for Revan to address him. The Dark Lord paused outside the door for a moment, eyeing the guard through his mask.
"Has she caused any trouble?" he asked.
"She broke a guard's nose yesterday when she came out of the kolto treatment because of the explosion, but other than that she hasn't been any trouble, sir."
"Interesting," Revan murmured, his own thoughts taking his attention for a moment. "Open the door."
"Yes sir." The guard turned around, inserted a small, round key-like device into a lock underneath the door panel, turned it twice to the right and once to the left, then entered the code to open the cell door. There had been nothing overlooked in security for this prisoner.
Revan entered quietly, seeing that she was currently asleep, and settled himself at the foot of her bed in a chair to wait. He wasn't forced to pass the time for long. She awoke within fifteen minutes of his entrance. Her stunningly blue-grey eyes slid open slowly, then flew wide as she saw him now standing at the foot of her bed. She sat up and backed away from him slightly, a dangerous expression affixed on her face.
"Don't touch me," she warned, her tone suggesting pain for one who did not heed her words. Already, her Talravinian accent was very apparent.
Revan smiled beneath his mask. This was going to be interesting. "Now Bastila, why would I do that?" he asked, speaking in her presence for the first time.
Bastila was surprised at the almost melodic quality of his voice. Whereas she had expected it to be harsh, guttural and raspy, it was deep, soothingly smooth and deceptively calm. Cool and distant, his voice gave a chilled aloofness to his words.
Narrowing her eyes at his response, she gave him a deservedly suspicious look. "Could it be the possibility that you are the Dark Lord of the Sith, and are obviously lacking in moral restraint? I have yet to learn what you want with me," she snapped.
"While you are most likely correct in your assumption that I am lacking in your type of moral restraint, it should be obvious what I want with you," he told her, amusement tingeing his words.
"If you think that I am going to simply surrender to your will and become your whore, you are sadly mistaken!"
Revan's laugh filtered through his mask and filled the silence; Bastila found the sound to be oddly comforting, but at the same time unnerving - it was a human action coming from an inhuman figure. "I had not planned on it. You would make a terrible whore." His tone switched from detached amusement to seriousness. "I saved you for your Battle Meditation, Bastila. With it, my conquest would be unstoppable and this war could finally end."
Could end? Good try. He was obviously trying to appeal to her compassionate side. Such a generic view of Jedi.
"I am not a spineless puppet, contrary to what you may think. I won't aid and abet your bloodbath to end this suffering you're putting the galaxy through, only so you can oppress the Republic once you've conquered it," she told him coldly.
Revan gazed at her for a little while, contemplating. "That's what you think, is it, that I want to conquer the galaxy for myself? That my ego knows no bounds and that I crave with a burning passion the position of ruler of the entire known universe?"
The Jedi narrowed her eyes fractionally more. "I have no idea what madness exists in your mind, but that seems the most logical conclusion that I and others can reach."
"And you seek not to discover my motives, only to render me incapable of further action?"
Bastila's annoyance flashed across her face for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features into a calmer mask. "I was sent to capture you, nothing more."
"You mean you were sent to kill me," Revan corrected.
"The Jedi do not believe in killing their prisoners," she responded with a slight edge.
The Dark Lord laughed once, harshly. "With what your masters would do to me, it would be the same as killing me, Bastila. They sent you to aid in murder. Destroying the person, the mind, the soul is just as horrific as taking a life. The body remains, but it's merely a shell." He noted the way her brows knitted together, as if she hadn't ever given thought to this course of action before. "You know full well that's what they would do to me. I am far too dangerous to merely keep locked up. They would come together as a single, cohesive unit, and either ravage my mind or remove my connection to the Force."
"You have done the same to others," Bastila pointed out, almost justifying, he noted. Almost.
"I deny nothing. But allow me to point out to you that I gave them the choice. I give everyone the choice. If they do not join me, they know what the result will be. At least I let them control their fate," Revan responded smoothly, emotionless.
"You have no soul to begin with; the masters would be taking away nothing," the Jedi nearly hissed.
"On the contrary, Bastila, I very much possess a soul. It just doesn't fit into your narrow view of the universe. Now, I have digressed from the point of main importance: your Battle Meditation. You are adamant in your position that you will not use it for me?" It was, in truth, a rhetorical question – he knew she would not simply hand over her skills to him.
"Not even under pain of torture or threat of death," she answered firmly.
"Well then, I fear I must be selfish," he replied, pulling out a metal collar and moving towards her on the bed. Bastila shot up to scramble away but he easily held her in place with the Force, slipping the metal ring around her neck and locking it, his gloved fingers deft even in their coverings. "If you won't use it for me, you won't use it for anyone else. That is a Force suppression collar; don't try to take it off, you'll only hurt yourself. I'll be visiting again soon, but I believe you'll be in a different room." Revan stopped at the doorway, his hand hovering over the panel. "Think it over. I'm not asking for anything exorbitant." He opened the door, got halfway out and then turned back. "And keep in mind that it could be much, much worse for you. I had hoped we could start without the torture you mentioned, but if you insist on resisting..."
The young Jedi watched the Sith Lord go with a mixture of feelings. The creeping sensation of cold hands gripping her spine left as he did, but a nagging curiosity quickly took its place. Why was he being civil towards her? He could have killed her already, but he didn't; he even put her in a relatively comfortable cell and had her fed regularly and given a shower once daily. He was the Dark Lord of the Sith – he was evil personified in a man!
Then why did she feel intrigued by him?
The question nagged at Bastila till she couldn't take it anymore and forced herself to think of other things. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was his voice. She hadn't expected him to have a normal voice by any means, but she had a preconceived opinion that it was probably going to be a harsh, undesirable thing for the ears. By no means had she prepared herself for the fact that he was going to have a voice that exuded raw power, masculinity and mystery. It was deeper than most, between a baritone and a bass, with an effortlessness – a silkiness – to it that was almost palpable, but had an aloofness that was disquieting. And it rumbled.
Now she wondered what kind of face could go with a voice like that. If she was going to be realistic, she figured he would be of average attractiveness. Most men with impressive voices lacked the physical aspect of that grandeur. But if she were to allow a modicum of hope to slip into the situation...
She shook her head to stop that thought. He was a Sith – the Dark Lord of the Sith – and there was nothing desirable, pleasing or redeeming about the man, no matter what kind of Jedi he had been beforehand.
Revan was frustrated as he stabbed a kolto syringe into his arm and injected the healing agent into his body. He was perceptive and skilled at reading people, but trying to read Bastila was much like trying to commit suicide without a weapon – it got him no closer to his goal and only accomplished making him angry. He knew she would be stubborn the moment he walked in the door, but there was something else there underneath that stubbornness that he couldn't place a finger on. He exhaled heavily and tossed the syringe into the waste disposal in the refresher. He needed something to take his mind off of things. Fortunately, that was already taken care of. Revan stepped out of the refresher and glanced at the bed, seeing a woman waiting there. He ignored her for the moment, removing himself of his boots and his shirt and depositing them next to and on a chair, respectively.
He turned to find the woman standing there, a seductive smile curving her lips. He did nothing, simply watched her; she placed her fingertips lightly on his chest and ran them down his torso at an agonizingly slow pace, finally reaching the hem of his pants and hooking her fingers inside the fabric, pulling him closer. Revan's countenance did not twitch. "Bed," he ordered. The woman obeyed, and he followed.
Life's pleasures? Yes, he dabbled in a few.
(A week later)
Bastila tried to remove the Force suppression collar for the millionth time, grunting as the electric shock again jolted painfully through her body. Her nerves never got used to the pain and now they were beginning to ache. Giving up for the time being, she sunk into the mattress of her single bed only to jump up again as her cell door whooshed open. Three heavily armed guards entered, one stepping forward and addressing her.
"We have been instructed by Lord Revan to move you from your cell."
Bastila's eyes narrowed warily but she knew it would be foolish to try to resist three armed men without any connection to the Force. She kept her head on a swivel and contemptuously snatched her arms away when the guards attempted to grab her as she was led through the ship to another area of holding cells, these much more menacing in appearance. Was she going to be tortured? Bastila gritted her teeth and prepared herself for the worst, making a vow that she would withstand whatever methods of persuasion were used on her. Tensing and jerking away again as she felt a set of hands on her pushing her into a small cell with no bed she briefly wondered what her ultimate fate would be. Slave? Whore by force? Death? She pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on feeling peace, on making sure that serenity trickled into every part of her being.
There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity.
Bastila didn't realize how little those words would help her in the coming months. She had no inkling of the multiplicity of ways that Revan would show her how little she believed in that mantra.
For now, however, she was allowed a false illusion of perfect Jedi serenity. She was left completely alone for an entire week – save for the jolt of electricity that surged through her body every time she nodded off – given no food or water, treated as if she didn't exist at all. Her body suffered; she was accustomed to being able to utilize the Force in situations such as this to alleviate the detriments of scarce food and water or lack of sleep, but with the Force suppression collar firmly around her neck there was no way she could fend off the natural effects of deep hunger and sleep deprivation. Her nerves groaned in pulsing, aching agony from the electricity that had repeatedly surged through her system and her head pounded with searing pain. Even moving her eyes to look around elicited a horrible pain that Bastila hadn't realized was possible to feel, like the tiny muscles were being torn in two; this kind of pain without a physical beating was something she was unprepared for.
And this is when she met Saul Karath.
"She said nothing of importance?"
The Admiral shook his head. "Nothing that we didn't already know. She didn't know the reasoning behind her addition to the Jedi team that made this most recent attempt on your life. All of the scans showed she was telling the truth - she truly possessed no knowledge of why she was sent. Her only objective was to capture you and return you to the Jedi."
Revan frowned behind his mask. "And the shock therapy?"
"Oh, it worked well enough," was his succinct response. "Though, if I may..." Revan nodded and Karath continued, "I do believe that she only answered the questions I asked because she knew that we would already be aware of such things. I could...see it in her eyes. She wasn't broken. She just wanted me to, as she put it, 'quit bloody shocking' her," the Admiral said with a very slight, amused smile.
Revan absorbed this information and stayed silent for a long moment, thinking. "That will be all, Karath," he murmured distractedly. The Admiral bowed and silently exited, leaving the Dark Lord alone with his musings. This Bastila was a strong-willed one then. He had sensed it when he first saw her, but he had entertained the possibility that she would cave under a week's worth of starvation and sleep deprivation. Most people succumbed due to the lack of sleep, but apparently Bastila could withstand even that. That was...mildly impressive. He would hand it to her – she was tough, at the very least. Now, what was the best way to go about getting what he wanted? Karath had echoed his sentiment of her strong will...
Perhaps brute force and painful persuasion wasn't the way to go?
Hm...Yes...perhaps a display of strength isn't what's needed here. A change in her perspective is in order, I believe. A change in the way she thinks. Jedi despise having their world turned on its head; maybe that will be what breaks her. Trayus Academy would be a quick way to make her submit…No, he thought. I want her to be an example. Show that even the most adamant Jedi can turn to my cause when the truth is revealed to them. Still, she is not my utmost priority. I have a war to fight that demands my attention - I will deal with her when time allows.
Revan issued orders to allow Bastila to be fed and bathed daily, but nothing more. She mattered very little to him; her Battle Meditation was a valuable asset if gained, but he was winning this war despite her skill. He would not be devastated if she never consented to use it for him, though it would mean her indefinite captivity. Revan wouldn't kill a prisoner such as her. She was too valuable a Jedi, too hot of a bargaining item – leverage at the very least, and Revan was keeping all of his options open.
Now, just what to do with her? He shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about such matters. Right now he was most concerned with the fact that Republic ships had been inching ever closer to the Star Forge, and his largest weapon in this war was beginning to look like it might be on the verge of discovery. And that, Revan knew, would mean the end of this campaign he was waging. If the Star Forge was taken or destroyed, he would not have the resources to continue this war for very long. The problem was vested in his options of action: Did he push more ships into the area to more fully defend the Star Forge, and thus run the risk of drawing more Republic attention? Or did he leave things as they were and bank on the fact that since the Star Forge hadn't been discovered in millennia, the likelihood of its discovery now was slim? After all, he doubted the Republic ships would truly venture into the Tempered Wastes unless they had a reason - though this latest foray had been due to a complete debacle of a retreat in which his ships had allowed a few Republic vessels to slip into their jumpstream and follow them in their hyperspace jump. Fools. The commanding officers had been stripped of their positions and then publicly executed.
As he pondered the best course of action - a luxury he rarely had now - a third option occurred to him and it appealed the most, drawing a delightfully, wickedly pleased grin across his face. Yes, he knew the best course of action. Striding purposefully to the bridge, the Dark Lord brought up the navicomputer interface, entered his password and personally put in the code to make the jump to the Star Forge - roughly, of course. Revan was incredibly guarded with the exact location of his weapons factory, and only he and a select few others knew it. Those who were stationed there were inside the massive factory, locked out of any important information the computers held. His fingers swiftly removed the coordinates from the screen as another man approached, one who was most certainly not trusted with the location of the Star Forge: Darth Voren.
"My Lord, if I may have a word with you."
Revan gritted his teeth behind his mask. He despised this man. "What is it, Renstaal?" he snapped impatiently, knowing that calling Voren by his last name irked him.
"My Lord, I must express my displeasure at our lack of retaliation against the most recent Republic attack on our ships. They have made fools of our vessels - are we to let them get away with that?" Voren inquired, his own face obscured by a black-tinted faceplate. "They've painted it all over the holo-net, parading it as a resounding victory."
The Dark Lord of the Sith turned, his figure much more imposing than Voren's. The urge to humiliate the man verbally was strong, but he resisted. That course of action had no real purchase. Revan leaned down shoving his own masked face into Voren's. "You want to chase down some Republic ships and punish them? Fine. I'll let you off your leash. When we come out of hyperspace, I'll let you take lead. Do not disappoint me," the Dark Lord snarled, heavy boots thudding along the metal walkway as he stalked off. Renstaal was in charge of the espionage sector of this ship - he was a sneaky bastard, slippery, one of the few people under his command that made Revan truly a little wary. As such, Revan had a close watch on Voren at all times and never let more than a few days go by without reading up on the man's actions. He would keep an especially close eye on Darth Voren's activities now, since Voren was so frothing at the bit to act. Such a desire to act, to control, to have power in some way usually meant a dissatisfied man on the inside.
Darth Voren watched the Sith Lord leave, his face beneath as blank as the mask that covered it. Revan was giving him an opportunity. That was how Renstaal saw every situation: an opportunity to better his position. He liked to think of his loyalty as very flexible, dictated by what would best benefit him or allow for the most possible advancements. Right now, what benefitted him most was staying behind Revan. Renstaal was ever mindful for the day that situation changed, ready to pounce on the opportunity and further himself once more.
Revan, who had some inkling of these tendencies in Voren, did not publicly acknowledge them at all. The Dark Lord preferred to let those around him who sought to overthrow him, plot against him or simply over-ambitiously advance themselves, fall into traps of their own making. With slight manipulation by him, of course. It was infinitely more satisfying when they failed. Fleetingly he wondered if such a tactic would work best on Bastila before trying to push her out of his mind. She was a woman, and women were not worth his time. They were useful for occasional pleasure and as an emotional barometer, but not much else. He had kept it that way for a long time, and had no intention of changing it soon, regardless of any inner want or need for the warmth and affection of a woman's heart. 'Personal affection is a luxury you can only have after all your enemies are eliminated. Until then, everyone you love is hostage, sapping your courage and corrupting your judgement,' Revan quoted in his head. It was what he lived by, and what he figured he would die by, as it didn't seem that his enemies would ever be eliminated. Thus, he could never love. Hmph. Pity, he thought absently and then attempted to dismiss such thoughts for the day. Everyone had to make sacrifices in their life. Why must I do so the most? a part of him wondered that he could not quell. His mind wouldn't let this go this time. The Dark Lord sighed. It's the hand you've been dealt by fate, just like everyone else, he told himself.
But I can control my fate. I've done so thus far.
No...not control. Influence. That's all I can do. Influence.
On that statement, Revan firmly clamped shut on that train of thought. He had two assassinations to complete and one required a personal touch - he could not be distracted. Awakening the droid he had personally built for such missions, Hunter-Killer droid number 47, Revan waited for him to boot up and set the parameters for HK's new target.
"Statement: Assassination protocols activated. New target acquired. Parameters understood. Query: Master, am I to leave now?" the droid asked, his red eyes glowing disturbingly bright in the dim storage room.
"Leave when we drop out of hyperspace. Do not fail me," the Dark Lord replied.
The droid seemed amused. "Incredulous statement: Fail? Master, I do not know the meaning of the word." With barely a whisper HK-47 exited, much to Revan's satisfaction. He was immensely proud of his creation and each successful kill the droid achieved further reinforced Revan's belief that he had created a nearly flawless machine. Of course, he was prepared for the day that HK fell short and a new model would have to be drawn up, but until then only minor improvements as needed would be made to this one.
He turned sharply and headed back to the bridge of the ship to enter the proper docking code for his vessel. All personnel were on edge, able to see through the viewports exactly where they were. Most had never been to the Star Forge before, and all had heard the stories of what happened to people who broke their silence about the location or use of the massive structure. It towered, looming above an unnamed star's surface, a thick, swirling column of pulsing orange energy stretching from the surface to the three-pronged tip of the Star Forge, powering the massive vessel.
"Renstaal!" Revan snapped, waiting until the man came up next to him. "Why haven't you left yet?"
Darth Voren took a bow. "My apologies, my Lord. I...do not know where we are, and we are the only ship in the area...I do now know how I am to organize an attack from here," the man admitted, angry that he was looking the fool in front of Revan.
The Dark Lord smiled beneath his mask, pleased at Voren's unspoken but obviously frustrated acknowledgement of his inferior position. "And you were so frothing at the bit to act," he commented, smirk deepening as he felt Renstaal's anger spike before it was controlled again. "How large is the Republic force you wish to decimate?"
Darth Voren stood up a little straighter. "Several Hammerhead-class cruisers which means squadrons of Aurek fighters, and a few other warships."
Revan raised a brow beneath his mask. "Vague, Renstaal. Sloppy," he reprimanded. "How many ships do you think you will need, and of what kind?"
He could all but taste Voren's growing wicked glee, despite the scolding. "Five Interdictor-class ships filled with our Sith Interceptors should be more than enough to overwhelm them."
The Dark Lord accessed the console in front of him, not needing to read the aurebesh that scrolled across the screen - he had accessed this particular program to link him to the Star Forge's computer systems countless times. And yet...Revan was left with the distinct feeling that this computer link wasn't needed. Somehow, it always seemed that the Star Forge was a nano-second ahead of his entered commands, doing what he was willing in his head before he assigned it on the computer. Now was no exception. Revan barely had to issue any command before the letters on the screen told him that five Interdictor-class ships, bellies filled with Interceptors would now be manufactured. The Dark Lord shut down the console. "You will have your ships in a few hours. Request that the men you wish to man them jump to this location," Revan added, handing him a data pad with a set of coordinates. "I will send the ships there when they have been produced."
Now get out of my sight.