Second chapter. Hope you all enjoy the read. As per usual here are the authors and creators involved:

Robhumph - Yours truly
NihilXIII - Creator of all things awesome
Mardya - The leader of our band of merry men

Disclaimer: Neither Star Wars nor The Old Republic setting is owned by us and all rights go to Disney, EA and Bioware. We three only claim ownership of our various OCs

CHAPTER II
OMENS

"Speaking from a personal standpoint, I do not believe it wise to divert military and naval assets to some far flung corner of the galaxy, just to protect a few old ruins. If the Empire wishes to waste its time blasting temples and enclaves to pieces, then let them. We'll continue destroying their fleets and reclaiming the territories they stole from us, and when we raise the Republic standard high over the worlds rescued from their tyranny, they can stand proudly on the rubble of their meagre conquests and ask themselves why, exactly, they lost the war.
What this means for the Jedi is unfortunate, but the Republic does not rely on their religion for its foundation. We use them for the protection they offer us, but when the protectors need protecting, then what use is such an arrangement?"
- Senator Taja Lohden of Kaal, speaking candidly to HoloNet News in opposition of the decision to support the reforming Jedi and the protection of their sacred grounds.

Ruins of the Jedi Enclave
Dantooine

1300 Hours (local time)

The 'Decimator' had ceased firing, and the sudden silence punctuated the desolation that had fallen over the former Jedi Enclave. The hope and determination that had lived within the hearts of its personnel, Republic and Dantooinian alike, had been beaten as effectively as the enclave's weaponry. Desperate to flee the dreadnought's fire, the soldiers formed easy targets for the waiting Imperial forces on the ground. And as hope gave way to despair, the defenders of the enclave perished.

Leaning against the last solid section of a crumbling wall, Krysil observed the systematic destruction of the enemy from his vantage point next to Master Gabrian's corpse. The Jedi's lightsaber was in his hands and the Sith took his gaze off the ruins long enough to admire the well-made hilt. He thumbed the switch and marvelled at the brilliant blade of emerald that burst forth. Their private battle had been a good test of skill, leading to the inevitable. Only one could be the victor and Krysil savoured of the sensation of being alive, deeply aware of the breeze cooling his sweat-stained flesh, and the constant throb of blood pulsing through his veins. Another day. Another fight…He never saw it coming. Too bad for him, lucky for me. Sentimental fool! I did his Padawan a favor. Not that he'll ever thank me. He'll probably be disappointed I wasn't the one dieing. Well, he won't be the only one if I know Strafe, Krysil thought to himself with wry humor. Who'd have thought a Sith Lord and Jedi would have anything in common? He smiled, imagining the face of Lord Strafe when confronted with his victory, and then brought himself up short. Wake up, you fool! There's time to gloat later.

"My Lord?" came a voice behind him and Krysil turned, clipping the Jedi's lightsaber to his belt.

"Corporal Serne," he acknowledged the Imperial. "What's the word from the 'Decimator'?"

"The Republic fleet has been defeated, and Lord Kelzan is on his way planetside, my Lord." Serne replied, saluting smartly. "He should be here within ten minutes."

"Ten Minutes?" Krysil exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet proper. "Why didn't you contact me? And where is Kevaarn?" He raised a hand to ward off a response. "Nevermind. I'll find him. You will inform Lieutenant Varr to ready our wounded for transport, and assemble those not needed elsewhere at the gates". He smirked, and added "what's left of the gates, anyway. Then take five of your men and sweep the enclave. Leave none alive."

The Corporal's lips moved as he silently echoed the Sith's commands. "Yes, my Lord!" Another crisp salute followed and he left, without waiting for further dismissal.

"Now, let's see what my friend's done to your Padawan, eh?" Krysil said, nudging the Cathar's corpse with his foot as he stepped over it and prowled toward the courtyard and the ruined atrium, in the direction where he'd last seen Kevaarn.

Rubble crunched underneath his boots and dust wafted upwards in lazy puffs with each stride as the Sith rounded the corner, eyes sweeping over the piles of debris here and there, searching for a familiar form. He kept one hand near his saber, his senses alert for the Padawan's presence. Cael had been a little too proficient at shielding his presence in the Force, and Krysil had no intention of missing even the slightest error by the young Jedi. One mistake, he thought. Just one mistake, little one, and you're next.

To his left, a cloud of dust rose upwards, following by a clatter of metal crashing against stone. Krysil spun around and whipped his saber free, stalking towards the huge pile of debris that shook with movement from underneath. He lithely dodged a jagged piece of metal as long as his arm that flew upwards from the rubble, and stopped two feet away. "Kevaarn?

"Blast whichever idiot designed this place! Can't hold up after one damned bombardment," a muffled voice complained from underneath the rubble pile, falling silent when its owner registered the other Sith's presence. "You're laughing, aren't you!"

"Me? Would I do that to a friend?" Krysil did laugh then and he was still laughing when Kevaarn emerged, his armor scratched and dusty but otherwise unharmed as far as Krys could tell. He leaned down and clasped the older man's hand, hoisting him to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder. "The Padawan?"

"Gone." Kevaarn turned around and kicked at the remaining detritus. "Would have had him if this blasted pile of rubble hadn't given up on itself".

"Bad luck," Krysil judged, turning his gaze towards the hilltops visible over the remains of the enclave walls. "It's a pity we can't chase him now. Your father is on his way and he'll want to see you."

They reached the gates just as Lord Kelzan's personal shuttle touched down. The soldiers who were not busy had fallen into formation, forming an honor guard on either side of an open stretch of grass that led from the shuttle towards the gates. Krysil and Kevaarn strode forward until they stood before their men. They bowed their heads and waited.

The shuttle's hatch door was pulled inward, revealing an armor clad figure standing in the opening. His cloak caught in the breeze as he strode down the ramp that had hastily been rolled out by two Imperial soldiers. Standing at least six foot tall Lord Kelzan struck an imposing figure, an impression that was enhanced by bulky armor designed after a fashion reminiscent of times long gone, of an era wherein the Empire had dominated the galaxy and the mere mention of the Sith had spread fear and despair. Even Krysil was not immune to the message the Sith Lord sent, not in words but by the mere power of his presence.

The Sith will rise again, that presence said. We will rise and bring order to the Galaxy!

Krysil cast a sidelong glance towards Kevaarn standing next to him, curious to observe his friend's reaction to his father's arrival. The reverence he sensed in others was less present within Kevaarn, he thought, but where he felt admiration tinged with fear and anticipation around him, Kevaarn seemed perfectly calm. He caught his friend's gaze briefly and raised his head, timing it perfectly. Lord Kelzan stood before him.

"My Lord, the enclave is yours," he intoned respectfully, stepping aside with a sweep of his hand to the dust and rubble where the gates had been.

"Hmph, very good." the Sith Lord replied, turning his head towards the Imperial soldiers gathered before him, his voice easily carrying over the battlefield. "Today... Today the men and women of the Empire, Sith and Imperial alike, have struck a blow few in the galaxy can ignore."

The impact of his words was felt all around, men and women straightened and Krysil couldn't quite suppress a small smile of triumph. We did this, he thought. I did this.

"Ahead of you, in all it's crumbled and decrepit glory, stands the great Jedi Enclave of Dantooine." Lord Kelzan continued. "A hallowed place in this galaxy's history. The very epicentre of the so called civil war the Jedi inflicted on the galaxy at large, the grounds where Revan himself began his journey to oblivion."

Revan! They had all known the enclave had been important to the Jedi but few had realized why. Now they knew and Krysil hazarded a look over his shoulder towards the ruins.

"Now look at it," Lord Kelzan said, mirroring Krysil's thoughts and possibly the thoughts of every Imperial present. "Where once there was a majestic palace dedicated to the pathetic practises of the Republic and its protectors, now there stands naught but rubble and corpses. And this was your doing! It was you, brave Imperials and Sith, who broke the backs of the defenders and achieved a victory second only to the Sacking of Coruscant itself!"

Excited murmurs rolled through the ranks, but Lord Kelzan's voice easily silenced them as he strode past the ranks to stand before them, outlined against the enclave's ruins. "But we will leave nothing standing this time! We found this monument to the Jedi a place of stone and marble. We will leave it a place of cinders and ash!"

When the Sith Lord fell silent, Krysil took his cue and signalled to Lieutenant Varr. "You heard Lord Kelzan, Lieutenant."

His command was met with an eager grin. "It will be my pleasure, my Lord!"

"Men! With me! Torch this place!"

Fields of Banir
Dantooine
1920 Hours (local time)

The back of a hand caressed his cheek softly, sweeping locks of charcoal hair away from his eyes. A voice, muffled, called out to him, and the fogginess that had clouded his mind began to lift.

"Cael," it said, ethereal and distant. "Cael, you don't have much time".

Cael's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself floating on a bed of starlight, his fingers tracing ripples into the fabric of space itself. Astral bodies blinked in and out of existence around him, and shied away from his caress when he tried to reach out.

"Cael," the voice rang out, clear this time. Cael furrowed his brow; he knew that voice. It was both comforting and concerning, for it was the voice of the deepest bond he'd ever felt, and also the deepest hurt.

And then, as if summoned by thought alone, his brother was beside him, holding onto his arm with one hand and scooping a sun from its solar system with the other.
"What are you doing here, Caden?" Cael asked, tracing the halo of light emanating from the snatched sun with the tip of his forefinger. It didn't burn, as he expected it to.

"I'm always here, brother," Caden replied with a warm smile, and Cael marvelled at how alike they were in appearance. The same wide eyes, the same soft expression, the same pale, narrow face; only Caden looked drawn, perhaps even a little gaunt, as though something was slowly sucking the life out of him and he was quickly losing the will to resist it. Their eyes were different colours; Cael's a bright cerulean, and Caden's, due to dalliances with the dark side, a fiery amber. His brother had taken to colouring his hair a deep crimson to match the thin, crescent-like tattoo surrounding his right eye, but those differences were superficial.

"I was fighting," Cael recalled, closing his eyes and resting his head against Cadens shoulder, "and then nothing. An explosion of light, and nothing."

"You don't have much time," Caden repeated. "Wake up, Cael."

"What do you mean-"

"Cael!"
Cael opened his eyes, and Caden was no longer there. Nor was the sea of stars he'd been swimming through, or the bed of light that had borne him. He was alone, in the dark emptiness of the void. A shriek of agony pierced his ears, as though the Force itself were torn asunder, and lunging at him through the nothingness was the wide, fanged mouth of a flaming viper.

He recoiled, and screamed, and felt himself tumbling away through the long dark. He drowned in the echoes of his exclamation, and the screams of trillions, while clawing hopelessly for an escape…

Cael's eyes snapped open, and he scrambled upright, throwing off his coverings and reaching for his lightsaber. His hand grasped nothing but air, and panicking, he groped at his hip and found nothing but bare flesh.

"What? Where-" he gasped aloud, but his head swam and he flopped back to the ground. Wherever he was, it was dark; the moon was barely visible through the flaps of beast hide serving as the entrance to his tent. Rain pattered gently, though to Cael, it was as if a meteor shower were thundering down upon him. His head drummed with each drop splashing against his tent, and his vision still swam with blinding green light.

An orbital strike, he thought to himself. It was the only explanation. He didn't know what had become of the Sith he'd been fighting. He'd been so blinded by rage at the injustice meted out by the Empire that he'd lost himself for a moment, attacking with hate-fuelled purpose. The Sith could have been anybody, or nobody, for all the difference it would have made; Cael had put himself in harm's way, all because he'd proven yet again that he was unable to control his emotions.

"There is no emotion, young one, but peace of mind," he thought to himself, in Master Gabrians voice. Oh no, Master Gabrian!

Heart sinking, Cael sat upright and tucked his head between his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. He didn't need to be told that Gabrian was dead, for he felt it, just as he'd somehow felt it while adrift in the space between the orbital strike and waking up… here. Wherever here was.

A chilly breeze kissed his skin, and Cael peered out to spy a young man wearing primitive, tribal clothing - if the loincloth and footwraps could be called clothing - entering his tent. Gathering his coverings to preserve his modesty, Cael pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could, and raised a fist defensively.
"Oh, you're awake- woah, easy, easy!"

"Who are you?" Cael snapped, though he sensed that this one was a friend, and lowered his fist.

"It's Sora," the man assured him, holding his hands out as if trying to control a wild beast. By the dim light from outside, Cael could just make out the pale yellow skin and red markings of the Mirialan, and he sagged with exhaustion from the sudden adrenaline surge. His head was muddled, and he hadn't recognised the soldier without his armour.

"Where are my robes?" Cael muttered. "My lightsaber?"

"B'nath asked that we keep any form of technology hidden for the time being," Sora explained. "We're with the Dantari. They're a primitive folk. Healed your wounds a treat though!" he smiled, nodding at Cael's bare chest.

For the first time, Cael noticed the thick salve covering the wounds on his chest and arms, and he suspected his face, too. But nothing was making sense. B'nath? Dantari?

"Where?" he slurred, feeling another bout of dizziness and nausea creeping up on him.

"Relax, the Captain has your belongings," Sora calmed him. "Had to dump our armour though, it was too heavy to drag around".
Cael slumped to the ground once again, and put his face in his hands.

"I've brought you some clothes," Sora offered, stepping closer and holding out a small bundle. "I mean, they're a bit… well… they don't offend the natives, which is what matters, I guess," Sora stammered. Cael noticed he seemed nervous; was it because he was addressing a Jedi?

"They'll be fine," Cael offered, holding out a hand for the primitive trappings. "I'd really like to know what I've missed, though."

"Captain Echo is outside, with B'nath." Sora gestured to the tent flap, and smiled some. "The Dantari hunted a graul while you were sleeping. The meat's a bit tough apparently, but anything beats field rations!"

I am quite hungry, actually, Cael realised, and his stomach growled in response. Sora chuckled, and at Cael's behest, helped him to his feet. Minutes later, he was dressed as no Jedi would ever dream of dressing, and allowed Sora to guide him from the tent

"You almost look like a native," the soldier smirked, and walked him through the rain and toward a large canopy of sewn-together hides, held aloft by stakes of wood and bone.

Captain Echo prodded at the small campfire before her, enticing the flames to breathe a little longer and roast the hunk of meat that a stranger was rotating on a makeshift spit. By the flickering glow, her cuts and bruises added shadow to her sombre expression, and her gaze seemed far away, seeing through the flames to some unknown torment. Clad in rags made of beast hide and no longer trapped in the confines of her white armour, Cael realised at once how vulnerable and how much more human the Captain appeared.

"Captain," Sora said softly upon approach, and after settling Cael next to her, took over from the stranger at the campfire, turning the meat and looking at them both expectantly.

"Ah, Cael," Echo smiled, snapping out of her reverie and gesturing to the stranger. "This is B'nath. He's from the local militia," she explained, "and it's thanks to him that we're alive. He and Sora were able to pull us from the ruins before the Imperials could regroup and scour the area".

"Thanks," Cael muttered, nodding to B'nath. He wished he knew how else to express his gratitude, but the events of the day were wearing him down to the point of numbness. And now that he was sat before the campfire, he was beginning to recall his dream, or vision, or whatever that had been. It seemed Caden had been trying to warn him of something, but what? And what was the fiery viper supposed to signify?

"It's really nothing," B'nath smiled, gesturing out toward the darkness beyond the canopy, where tribesmen were pulling apart their kill and distributing meat and hide and bone, to be turned into food and shelter and tools. "If we hadn't happened upon the Dantari, I don't think you'd have lasted the night".

"They healed me?" Cael asked, his hand running over the dried paste that covered the myriad of wounds along his chest when he remembered what Sora had told him in the tent.

"Their Garoo recognised you as Jedi, and agreed to help," B'nath explained. "I expect she'll be with us shortly, now that you're awake".

"Luckily for us, B'nath speaks their language," Sora chimed in. "If you can call it speaking, anyway. Looks like random waving and pulling funny faces to me, with the occasional noise thrown in for flavour," he frowned.

"Just don't offend them by mistake," B'nath laughed. "Leave the talking to me and we should stay in their good graces. Oh, if I'd known I'd be ending this day translating for the Republic and the Jedi…"

"B'nath," Echo interrupted, with a thin smile.

"Oh, of course. Staying on topic," B'nath scolded himself. "Your possessions are in here." He patted a makeshift bag on the ground beside him, also made of beast hide, that Cael hadn't noticed before. It didn't seem overly full.

"My lightsaber?"

"Safe," Echo assured him. "The Dantari, by large, aren't familiar with our technology, and we thought to keep it that way. The Garoo expressed gratitude for us adapting to their means during our stay".

"This 'Garoo' seems to be familiar with a lot," Cael argued, staring once more into the flames.

"Yes, but it's not our place to interfere with their way of life," Echo countered. "The least we can do to thank them for sheltering us is to respect their practices."

"How long can we expect to retain their hospitality?" Sora asked, looking at B'nath.

"I imagine the elders will want to be free of us as soon as possible," B'nath sighed, looking toward a large canopied area some feet away, beneath which were gathered six Dantari, conversing heatedly. "But I do not think they'll kick us out until they, themselves, pack up camp and continue on their way".

"With any luck, the rain will have subsided by then," Echo said hopefully, "and we can return and search for Master Gabrian."

"No," Cael spoke up. "No, there's no point. Master Gabrian is… he's…"

"Oh," Echo whispered solemnly. "You're certain?"

"I feel his absence in the Force," Cael tried to explain. "He's gone. You should focus on getting back to the Republic. I should focus on finding the Jedi." When this suggestion was met with uncomfortable silence, Cael perked a brow, and looked between Echo and Sora, awaiting some sort of explanation.

"We- the Captain and I- have decided not to go back," Sora finally confessed. Cael studied the Mirialan, sensed his regret and guilt through the Force, and shuffled gingerly across to sit beside him.

"I understand," he said softly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and looking Echo in the eye, nodding to her with a slight smile.

"We burned in a fire that the Republic knowingly tossed us into," Echo scowled, balling her fists. "We were undermanned, under equipped…"

"I said I understand," Cael repeated. "I know I have no right to ask any more of you, but-"

"We've already agreed that we'll help you find your way back to the Jedi," Echo interrupted. "But we do it of our own volition. We'd hoped Master Gabrian might be able to give us a starting point, but we can't rely on that now."

"I will do what I can to help you escape Dantooine," B'nath offered, while sliding the hunk of graul meat from the spit and beginning to rip it into four portions with his bare hands. "After that, I fear I can go no further. I have family on Dantooine, and the Empire will be leaving behind an occupying force for the foreseeable future."

"If I remember correctly, there's an old Jedi Temple on Dantooine," Cael smiled warmly, and accepted his dinner from the militiaman. "You've already done more than enough, but if you could help us reach it..."

"I'd hoped to help the Republic," B'nath sighed, "and all I can do is play tour guide."

"You've been invaluable, B'nath," Echo agreed with Cael. "None of us here would ask that you abandon your family."

"Thank you, Captain," B'nath smiled sheepishly. "We're in the Banir Fields, finding the Temple will not be arduous. Getting in and out in one piece, however, might be a different story."

The four of them descended into silence after this, chewing on their food and contemplating their defeat at the hands of the Sith Empire, and the trials still to come. Only when a figure shuffled toward them through the rain and darkness did they stop, set aside the bones that they'd picked clean, and arose with respect for the Garoo of the tribe.

Cael had never seen a Dantari before, and was immediately awed by her physique. Lean and broad, with a large flat face and a thick nose, she stood head and shoulders above himself and Captain Echo, and was festooned with necklaces and bracers adorned with all manner of fang and bone. She wielded a club-like mace, decorated with feathers and yet more fangs plucked from the maws of unnamed predators. Folds of beast hide gathered on the ground behind her, dragging through the mud and the sodden grass, until she pooled herself within them on the floor and gestured for them all to sit.

She began to speak - unintelligible noises, accompanied by gestures of her hands and fingers, her facial expressions conveying more meaning than Cael could possibly understand - and B'nath observed, occasionally exchanging words and gestures with her, before translating.

"The Elders have spoken. We will be gone when the light returns," B'nath conveyed, confirming their earlier suspicions. "We are given the gift of the Vincha."

"Vincha?" Cael asked, but his question was answered when the Garoo presented them with a flower. She thrust it at Cael, who seemed perplexed, but upon her insistence, he took the delicate thing from her, and bowed his head.

"It's a treasure among the Dantari," B'nath whispered. "It has healing properties. I think she'll want more than a bow of the head."

"Tell her…" Cael faltered. What did he have that he could give?

"Tell her we will give a gift that cannot be bound by material possession," Echo suggested. "Vengeance against those that burned their lands and tainted the enclave."
B'nath weighed up the merits of such a proposal, then reluctantly delivered it. Cael couldn't tell if the Garoo was pleased, or offended; she exclaimed loudly, and raised her hands, shaking her mace vigorously, but B'nath seemed happy when he began to translate.

"The Garoo says such a gift will be treasured beyond words by all Dantari."

"Well, that's a relief," Sora muttered, and Cael smirked at him.

The Garoo rose, and jabbed her mace toward Cael, and immediately he and Sora dropped their gaze to the floor; he hoped they hadn't offended the shaman.
"You, step forth," B'nath translated.

Cael stood and did as he was asked, feeling suddenly small in relation to the Dantari mystic. She touched his shoulders, one after the other, with her mace, and then put a hand on his head, her thumb and smallest finger kneading his temples as she chanted something under her breath.

"What is she doing?" Cael whispered out of the corner of his mouth to B'nath, who could only shrug, until the Garoo furnished him with more to translate.

"She says you have seen," B'nath again shrugged. "Seen what? I don't…"

But Cael was no longer listening.

He was falling once more through the void, the pinpricks of starlight around him becoming engulfed in shadow

"Cael! You don't have much time!"
The serpent coiled around him, constricting around his throat and he found he could not ask the questions he wanted so desperately to voice. Its eyes bored into his own, and its forked tongue flickered against his lips, and for a moment Cael thought he saw something disturbingly human in its gaze.

"Cael!"

"Cael!" Echo and Sora both shouted as one, and he found himself on the floor at the Garoo's feet, with both the Captain and the Mirialan shaking him desperately.

"I'm okay!" he gasped, clinging to Sora's arm and pulling himself upright again.

"What happened?" Sora asked, and Cael realised the young soldier was trembling. "What did she do to you? You just fell, and started shaking…"

"It wasn't her," Cael swallowed hard, rubbing at his throat. "I had a dream, before I woke up here, a vision of some sort. And again, just now-"

"The Garoo says she also sees," B'nath said, translating from the shaman who had returned to the floor, and had begun prodding the campfire with her mace. "The winged goddess weeps, and the fanged god strikes. The snake is his herald. He will devour all."

"The.. what?" Cael asked, bewildered, but the Garoo seemed to think that no further explanation was required, for she fell into silence and left Cael looking to B'nath, Sora and Echo for answers. All seemed equally as confused as he was.

The 'Decimator'
En Route to Dromund Kaas
2025 Hours (Galactic Standard time)

Hours had gone by since the 'Decimator' had entered hyperspace, leaving Dantooine and the ashes of the former Jedi Enclave behind. All soldiers who had not been assigned tasks had retreated to the crew deck, either to rest, wait their turn to use the sanisteam or be seen by one of the medical staff. Others had found their way to the cantina. Too restless to sleep, they had settled in with drinks and at several tables the pazaak cards had come out.

One of the first to claim a sanisteam unit, Krysil had basked in the heat until the tension had left his body and a pleasant weariness had sunk into his muscles. Gritting his teeth he turned the temperature to low and gasped when the cold hit him, flushing the drowsiness from his system. Hair still damp and spirits high, he changed into a pair of slacks, a woollen sweater and plain, comfortable boots made of tough, gundark leather, and made a beeline for the cantina, sinking into a seat near one of the tables where a group of spectators was betting on a Pazaak match.

Listening to the banter, Krysil lit a cigarra and exhaled, eyes slitting against the smoke wafting upwards. He was halfway through his second drink, having switched from water to whiskey when Kevaarn joined him. "There you are," Krysil greeted him, lazily kicking out a chair for his friend. "I started to think Lord Kelzan would keep you from celebrating all night."

Kevaarn grunted a reply, but he didn't sit and Krysil raised a brow, leaning forward. "Trouble?" he murmured., following the other Sith's gaze when Kevaarn glanced to an empty table in the back and offering a nod in understanding. "Give me two minutes," he replied, pushing his glass into Kevaarn's hands. At the other's questioning look Krys winked. "Watch," he commanded, pushing his chair back and coming to his feet with a confident grin on his lips.

He looked around and decided merely standing didn't give him the exposure he was after. Hopping up on the table, via the chair, he raised his hands, signalling for silence. He was patient and waited for the chatter to die down before raising his voice. "Today you all heard Lord Kelzan call our victory second only to the Sacking of Coruscant!" he called out. Several of the men cheered and Kevaarn shook his head, grinning. "And a victory like that should not come without a trophy!" Krysil continued, taking Master Gabrian's lightsaber hilt from his belt and raising it high for all to see. "A Jedi Master died on Dantooine today! And since the enclave is nothing but ashes, he 'graciously' donated his lightsaber to mark our victory!" Under thunderous applause the saber hilt floated through the cantina towards the wall behind the bar where the loop draped over a corner of a worn Imperial placard. The saber hilt swayed a couple of times and then was still. "It will stay there until we reach Dromund Kaas!"

"You're insane," Kevaarn smirked when Krys jumped to the floor and held his glass out to him.

Krysil draped an arm around his friend's shoulders and took the glass, raising it in salute. "To victories," he said. "That we may celebrate them often. Speaking of which, did you order? If that look on your face is any indication, I am going to want a refill for this." He downed the last of his whiskey and steered Kevaarn towards the empty table where he disengaged himself, and weaved through the crowd towards the bar.

He set his empty glass on the counter and beckoned the bartender closer. "Luy, refill this for me, please. And a Kaasian Red for my friend."

"Coming right up, my Lord!" Luy, a tall, grey-skinned Twi'lek, abandoned the glasses he'd been pouring for two others and reached for the whiskey bottle. "Did you really kill that Jedi?" He inquired, with a nod to the saber hilt adorning the wall.

"Mmhm," Krysil folded his arms over the counter and grinned up at the bartender. "It was a good fight too."

Luy tipped the bottle and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into Krys' glass. "In that case, this one's on me," he smiled.

"You're spoiling me, Luy," Krysil replied, watching him pour the red wine for Kevaarn in equally generous quantities. "I should do this more often."

"That was the general idea, my Lord."

They shared a grin, and Krys carried both glasses back to the table where Kevaarn had been waiting. Sinking into a seat across of the older Sith, he moved an ashtray closer and lit up a fresh cigarra. "Alright," he said. "Let's hear it."

Kevaarn leaned forward. "You remember Ravella?"

"That lieutenant your father considers the next best thing after Roemer?" Krysil nodded. "Yeah, I know who she is. Easy on the eyes as well as capable. What about her?"

"Nothing about the woman herself." Kevaarn continued. "Just some news from Kaas."

"So? What happened? Did someone dispose of the Empress while we were away?" Krysil exhaled a plume of smoke towards the older Sith and smirked when Kevaarn wafted the vapours away. "Did the HQ burn down?" he continued. "That'd be a shame."

"Are you allergic to seriousness or something akin to that?" Kevaarn sighed and Krysil raised a hand in a placating manner.

"Sorry, I'll behave. Go on?"

Kevaarn shot him a suspicious glare. "The word is, the 'K'lmsi', Darth Athaven's flagship, is en route from the Outer Rim. The Chiss is right behind us."

Krysil raised an eyebrow. That was big news indeed. The leader of their powerbase travelled frequently and his time on Dromund Kaas was scarce. It had been said that the alien Darth once had served as a diplomat for the Chiss Ascendancy, but those rumors had never been confirmed. "Your father must be pleased? I heard he thinks highly of Darth Athaven?"

"He does, but that's not the point." Kevaarn replied. "Tension is rising on Kaas. Strafe is on the warpath again. Remember when he made that bid for the Director seat but Vannir got the promotion instead?"

"Politics," Krys groaned. "I don't even know why he wants the job so badly. When you're the one who has to make sure the powerbase runs smoothly, you get all the complaints too. Wouldn't be my dream job, but what does this have to do with us?"

"Has something to do with you annoying him, I imagine." Kevaarn sipped from his wine and looked over when a disagreement broke out at a nearby table. When it seemed the argument went no further than glares and insults, he resumed his tale. "You may have gotten what you wanted, but with a reputation like yours… hard to shake off. Apparently Strafe thinks that Vannir is at fault for not beating you into form."

"That's a kriffing heap of bantha dung, and he knows it!" Krys replied hotly. "So, he doesn't like me. Yeah, sure, I get it. I made him look nerf-brained but that's on me and no one else." He scowled and leaned forward, crushing his cigarra in the ashtray with more force than necessary. "So, he's coming after us?"

"According to Ravella at any rate."

"How?"

Kevaarn sipped his wine and shrugged. "Send personally trained assassins after us? You know us Sith, nothing's ever simple when it comes to grudges."

Krysil stared at his friend for a full minute, a smile dawning on his face. Mischief glinted in the ochre colored eyes as the younger Sith sank back into his seat and lifted his glass. "You know," he drawled, "I think Lord Strafe is stirring up just my kind of trouble."

...

Hours after departing Dantooine, Admiral Stahl paced onto the bridge, each other step punctuated by the clanking of metal against the decking. He walked with a pronounced limp, but it made him no less formidable. Injuries sustained throughout the course of the war had given Stahl a rather grotesque appearance; lank black hair fell down over the left side of his face, not quite disguising the vicious burn scars and the cybernetic replacement for his missing eye, and his lower face was masked completely by a robust rebreather that fed his seared lungs with oxygen.

Where his peers were known to maintain a crisp white uniform adorned with all manner of embellishment, from medals to cloaks, Stahl eschewed all decoration and wore a simple military-style black tunic. Even his rank plaque seemed to offend the simplicity of his uniform.

Eyes were averted as the Admiral passed the crew stations and made for the observation platform, gloved hands clasped behind his back, his rhythmic mechanical breathing signalling his passing and drawing sighs of relief from those in attendance - relief that he was in a good mood, judging from his silence. If he reached the platform without dressing anybody down, it was a sure sign that the Dantooine campaign had met all acceptable parameters.

Indeed, Stahl reached the observation platform without incident, and stared into the swirling vortex before him, the hyperspace lane that would take them back to Imperial space, back to Dromund Kaas.

"How long until we arrive?" Stahl asked nobody in particular.

"Ten standard minutes, sir," a voice replied. He didn't look to see who. He didn't care who. He'd served long enough to know that these men were interchangeable; either they'd find posts elsewhere on the vessel, or on other ships, or they'd die in combat, or one of them would annoy the wrong Sith or officer and either be demoted or disappear out of an airlock. Far too many variables to warrant forming personal attachments, he had long ago decided, and his ship ran all the better for it. He didn't need to know these men, he didn't need their admiration or their respect, and he certainly didn't need their familiarity. He needed them to do a job, and do it as he commanded, the rest of it be damned.

"Good. Open comm channels, redirect any priority alerts to my personal frequency," he ordered, extracting his holocomm from his belt. He began to pace before the viewport, his mind elsewhere, while scanning distractedly though the incoming messages.

He immediately trashed the reports from fleet commanders signalling their departures to various frontiers, for he knew the movements of the fleet better than any; many of the campaigns being undertaken were of his own design, as shortly following his promotion, Stahl had used his authority to escalate the war against the Republic and to scale back on smaller skirmishes barring the ones he was overseeing regarding the Jedi.

Just thinking of the Jedi irked him, as he skimmed through a correspondence from the 'K'lmsi', the flagship of Darth Athaven. Oh, how he wished that the Sith and Jedi aspect could be removed from play in these affairs. Manoeuvring the Imperial and Republic fleets would be a damn sight easier if he didn't have to factor in the personal vendettas that pervaded every battle plan. Part of the reason he'd elected to personally oversee the elimination of the Jedi sacred grounds was so that he could mitigate the distraction that so often resulted from Sith meeting Jedi in the field. Lesser commanders would defer readily to whichever Sith was in charge, but not Stahl; he knew the cost of war, and he wasn't willing to pay it to satisfy a whim.

Lord Kelzan, at least, seemed a reasonable man. Stahl had never had cause to earn the wrath of the Sith, but he was also no fool - he knew that many of them would view his stance as insubordination at best, and treason at worst. But Lord Kelzan seemed of a similar mind, at least when it came to quickly and effectively ending a conflict to a favourable outcome.

"Admiral, another priority message, for Darth Athaven. Apparently the 'K'lmsi' is out of range, they've redirected it to us," a comms officer announced.

"Let me see," Stahl gestured, and the incoming transmission played via his holocomm.

"We have a situation in the citadel," a distressed honor guard reported, his voice breaking up due to interference caused by the vast distance between them. "There's a man here, he claims to be Sith, some emissary from the Unknown Regions".

How curious, Stahl mused to himself. A rare thing, to see an Imperial honour guard so rattled.

"I will pass this on to Lord Kelzan," Stahl assured the honor guard. "Might I ask why this is cause for alarm?"

"He's mind-controlling the rest of my guard!" the honor guard shouted, gesturing wildly to something unseen. "Says his name is Thazyn. He's demanding to see Darth Athaven. I don't know how to proceed!"

"Oh, entertain your guest a while longer," Stahl snorted. If there was one thing he despised more than Jedi, it was the power games of the Sith. Their politics didn't interest him in the slightest, but he found himself forced to keep up with their shadowy games, if only so he knew to whom he had to report. Darth Athaven seemed to possess an uncanny longevity in that particular arena, and as Lord Kelzan fell within Athaven's powerbase, Stahl made it a point to know the movements of the Chiss and his snivelling, power-grabbing underlings. If Thazyn were here to upset the established order of things, perhaps it would lend something new to a situation that had grown predictable and stale, Stahl pondered to himself. It was an unexpected wrench in the works, but such shake-ups often produced results to his liking.

"Sir, if you could give me an estimated time of arrival…"

"Keep your head on straight," Stahl snapped, silencing the honour guard. To his credit, the guard fell silent, despite completely outranking Stahl. "I'll inform Lord Kelzan. Try not to let this Thazyn cause too much damage, that citadel has only recently been rebuilt".

With that, he disconnected. His final glib remark had only been half intended as humour; the citadel was a costly structure, a gross misplacement of funds that could be better used if they were redirected to the war effort. But to deny the Sith their grandiose statements of power was a fruitless endeavour, so as much as it displeased him, he often refrained from voicing such opinions.

"Inform Lord Kelzan I will be visiting him in his chamber," Stahl instructed the comms officer. "And have his shuttle prepared for immediate take-off".
As fast as his limp would carry him, Stahl made for the turbolift aft of the bridge. He'd anticipated minimal direct encounter with the Sith Lord for the remainder of this voyage. He did not like being mistaken.

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