Author's Notes: The following story takes place shortly after the Battle of Ilum, within my Halcyon Legacy.
Dromund Kaas
13 ATC
When the fall had finally come, it had come without warning.
And now, Ismar Brengle found herself running for her life through the dark jungles of Dromund Kaas.
For more than two years, she'd been forced to serve a mad man. Lured by the promises of unlimited resources to pursue her personal research projects, she had traveled to Lord Grathan's estate – a virtually impregnable fortress far to the south of Kaas City. She had not been alone, either. Dozens of the Empire's best and brightest minds had likewise been enticed by the Sith Lord's claims. Surely, such a collaboration as this would lead to a new golden age in a wide variety of sciences for the Empire. 'An Imperial Renaissance', the assembled scholars had called it.
And that had been when the trap had snapped shut. The scientists had all been enslaved, commanded under the threat of execution (or worse) to begin turning out experimental weapons for Grathan's personal war machine, even as the Imperial military laid siege to the estate, precipitated by Grathan's public rejection of the Dark Council's authority.
Ismar had never considered herself particularly ethical; she was a profiteer at heart. But most of the projects she'd been forced to work on had been horrific even by her standards. In the most despicable display, dozens of loyalist Imperial soldiers had been captured, their physical bodies killed off and their brains transplanted into cybernetic drones. It had made even a pragmatist like Ismar feel sick to her stomach.
But for all her misery, she'd performed some of the best work of her career while 'working' for Grathan.
One of the most successful projects, she had hoped, would not only lead to her liberation, but leave her immensely rich as well.
Lanniter Droge was a brilliant cyberneticist, and Lord Grathan's personal armorer, besides. Ismar had worked side-by-side with him for months, helping him develop several ground-breaking technologies. Their work had eventually born fruit, and soon the powerful Sith Lord had replaced much of his own body with cybernetic enhancements, making him even more dangerous.
Droge – sentimental fool that he was – hoped to use their research to aid the untold millions of war-victims throughout the galaxy, those who had lost limbs during the conflict between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic, and who had suffered ever since.
Very noble of him. Ismar thought with disgust.
She had a better idea.
Ismar would arrange to steal the plans for the enhancements, smuggle them out of the compound, sell them on the black market for an insane sum of credits, use her ill-gotten gains to arrange for her extraction, flee the Empire with a new identity and then live out the rest of her days in luxury.
It would have been the most profitable achievement of her life by far.
Unfortunately, the thrice-damned operative she'd sent to commit the theft had passed her counterfeit plans. Completely worthless. Ismar had made him for an agent from Imperial Intelligence; he had that air of cold, ruthless intelligence about him. By the time she'd realized what had happened, he'd been long gone. (No doubt escaping with the real blueprints.)
The months that followed those events saw examples of the work Droge and Ismar had designed appear on the Holonet from throughout the galaxy. That sentimental fool had beamed for weeks at the news, even though he would never see a credit from those achievements.
Ismar, meanwhile, could only gnash her teeth in silent fury, fuming at what might have been.
In the year since that incursion, the mood over the estate had subtly shifted and not for the better. The discovery that Dorotsech, one of the other top scientists, had apparently escaped from the compound meant that even greater scrutiny was placed on the prisoners. The indignities Ismar and the others had suffered infuriated her even more than anything she had been subjected to up to that point. Morale, such as it had ever been, had collapsed. A sense of fatalism had risen to take its place. Defections among Grathan's followers – and escape attempts by his slaves – had skyrocketed. A few had even committed suicide. People could see the writing on the wall. Whatever protections that had discouraged the Empire from unleashing its full might upon this blight on its own capital world were clearly starting to fall.
The sense of impending doom had sparked countless rumors. Some claimed that Lord Grathan had already fled, abandoning his followers and slaves to their fate. Another rumor claimed that Grathan intended to some 'ascend', uploading his consciousness into the Holonet even as his followers sacrificed themselves. One particularly outlandish rumor even claimed he had been killed, and that his wife and son were conducting a mummer's farce from behind a mask. Ismar had thought that story absurd, but for whatever reason, there was a notable leadership gap in the compound she hadn't felt before.
The Empire's reported failure on Corellia combined with the unprecedented raid by the Republic fleet on Dromund Kaas itself had no doubt postponed plans to attack the estate. Likewise, the rebellion of Darth Malgus had forced the Dark Council to focus away from 'the Grathan affair' for a time.
But then, early one morning, it all came crashing down.
Even after months of waiting for the axe to fall, it had still been a shock to the remaining occupants. Commandoes, supported by Sith enforcers and even Imperial Walkers, had penetrated the estate's defenses. Two full legions of crack soldiers had soon followed in their wake, eager to finally make the defenders pay for the various pains they and their comrades had endured during the prolonged siege.
Grathan's remaining forces – reduced mostly to droids and cyborgs by now – had resisted with extreme force, showing no regard whatsoever for their own existence. The weapons unleashed upon the loyalists that day would have shamed even the famed military industrialists of Balmorra in sheer inventiveness and lethality.
It did the defenders no good. Not against odds that great.
Like all native citizens of the Sith Empire, Ismar had no illusions about the fate that awaited Grathan's former servants, whether those who had served by their own choice or by coercion.
The fortunate ones would be killed off during the attack.
The less fortunate ones – even those with exceptional skills like Ismar – would be taken prisoner and hauled back to the city. There, they would be made an example of, placed in stocks in the city's center. They would be humiliated and abused for days or even weeks before they would finally be granted the 'mercy' of a public execution. This, all to discourage any other slaves from aiding their masters in rebelling against the Empire.
She'd seen it done once years before when she'd been a teenager and some other Sith Lord had been toppled after a failed power play. The experience had scarred her for life.
(Naturally, if any of the slaves had ever betrayed Grathan to the loyalists, they would have met with much the same fate. Obedience to the Sith was an absolute, even when that Sith went rogue. A slave, meanwhile, was just a slave under Imperial law.)
Considering what awaited her if she stayed put, Ismar had done the only thing she could have done.
She'd run.
She had an excellent grasp of the odds of escaping the destruction of the compound. She likewise believed she understood the odds of surviving a hasty trek through the jungle, where so many things could kill her. What's more, even if she did survive, she had no plan whatsoever for getting off the planet. She still wore the collar Grathan had had her fitted with that marked her as a slave, and she had no access to credits or anything else practical to barter with.
But the probability of survival was still far better than what certainly awaited her back at the estate. The cost-benefit analysis of her situation was clear.
Ismar was now running in the general direction of the spaceport, even as the sounds of fighting and dying faded behind her. Perhaps she could stow away with some off-world merchant…
Too fast! She'd missed the fallen branch across what counted for a path, tripping and landing face-first onto the wet ground.
Ismar coughed, pushing herself off the ground and wiping mud from her face. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she was losing time. She had to get to her feet and get moving again…
Just then, she heard the growling.
The Gundark that emerged from the bushes was massive. How a creature that large could move while making so little noise, she couldn't imagine. Its massive teeth were bared as it stalked towards the beleaguered scientist.
Ismar froze up. The reality of her situation dawned on her. After everything she'd experienced with Grathan, the Empire, and everything else, this was how her story would come to an end: Eaten to death by some carnivorous beast in the jungle.
A strange sense of relief came to her: It's finally over. She thought to herself, as the creature moved in for the kill. My account balance is finally at zero.
Ismar closed her eyes in acceptance…
… only to open them as a distinctive humming sound emanated through the jungle.
The red lightsaber had pierced the gundark through the back of the head, and out of its mouth. It did not even look surprised.
The creature's dead body fell unceremoniously to the ground. Stunned by this turn of events, Ismar swallowed and looked up.
The woman who stood before her was beautiful in the way a bird of prey was beautiful. The bone spurs and facial tentacles easily marked her as a Sith pureblood, her crimson red complexion standing out in the dark jungle as her yellow eyes focused intently on Ismar, her glare accentuating full, pursed lips. The woman's black armor was clearly designed for combat, but it didn't seem to restrict her movement in the slightest. The scientist realized only now that she could only make out the features of this Sith Lord – for surely, this woman could only be a Sith in standing as well as species – from the illumination of her red lightsaber.
For a moment, Ismar thought she'd been captured by the attacking Imperials after all. That she had escaped one quick fate at the hands of the gundark only to suffer a more prolonged and humiliating one at the hands of this Sith, all in the name system where people like the scientist were either tools or prey.
"Ismar Brengle. You have been chosen to be part of the Great Plan."
Ismar blinked in confusion, trying to understand what was happening.
"I… what?" were the only words that formed.
The Sith's brow furrowed. With two graceful strides, she reached Ismar, crouching down to face her, still holding the lightsaber in her left hand.
"Those at the highest levels require your unique skills." The Sith's voice was strangely comforting and unsettling at the same time. It was like putting on a warm coat on a chilly day, only to discover that it had been lined with the skin of a dewback lizard.
"If you decline to serve, then your story ends here, in this jungle." The Sith reached out with her right hand, caressing Ismar's cheek through her gloved fingers. "If you serve us well, then someday, you will be well-rewarded."
Despite her mental and physical exhaustion, Ismar felt a blush come to her cheeks. Having lived in captivity for so long, it had been some time since anyone had offered her anything resembling physical comfort, even if it did come paired with a death threat.
For as long as she could remember, Ismar Brengle had had an eye for profit.
There was an excellent chance that this Sith Lord was lying. She had made that mistake years earlier with Grathan and had vowed never to make the same mistake again.
But now… she ran the numbers through her head and calculated the obvious.
There was no profit whatsoever in dying at this moment.
"Well, then. How could I refuse an offer like that, my lord?" Ismar smiled grimly.
The woman nodded in approval, rising to her feet. She brandished her lightsaber again, and for a moment, Ismar was convinced she had made a mistake.
"Do not move." The Sith commanded.
Ismar didn't even breath as the blow came… slicing through the slave collar she'd been wearing while leaving her skin unharmed. The infernal device – that she had cursed daily for two years – finally fell to the ground.
She was free.
Ismar gasped, putting a hand to her throat as the Sith sheathed her weapon.
"Follow." He rescuer commanded, then turned on her heel, stalking off into the jungle.
She hadn't even bothered to offer Ismar a hand up. Nor tell her where they were going.
In fact, Ismar still didn't even know the Sith Lord's name.
Ismar got to her feet and brushed herself off. Then she hurried to catch up with her savior.
After all, defying this Sith Lord would hardly have been profitable.
Author's Notes: Ismar Brengle is an NPC from the game. She appears as the giver of a side-mission called "Black Science" at the Grathan compound on Dromund Kaas.
It's established in the story that Baras and others are holding the military back from launching a full-scale attack on Grathan's compound.
The operative from Imperial Intelligence Ismar refers to is (obviously) Cipher Nine, who in this case was Gahraath Vaiken. (Gahraath is fairly dark-side at this point but refusing to give the plans to Ismar seemed like what an Imperial loyalist should have done.)
For the record, Kael Nosrol Krannus – the future Emperor's Wrath in this story – is certainly a hardline dark-sider, but Lady Grathan managed to convince him that killing her husband would be more fun. So Ismar is sadly incorrect in her dismissal of the rumor about Lord Grathan.
Dorotsech – from the Sith Inquisitor story – gets a mention here. He's already appeared in my It Could Always Be Worse story.
The raid by the Republic fleet Ismar refers to is obviously a reference to the attack on Dromund Kaas at the end of the Jedi Knight class story.
Oh, and the Sith who saved Ismar? We'll be seeing more of her. ;)