The Sinyaquenta: Tales of Arda and the Galaxy

by Lord Exar Kun

Following the end of 'Arda Unleashed' this book contains the varied tales, adventures and stories of characters both old and new. Follow them through this new galaxy. Follow Sauron, Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, Aragorn, Gandalf and many more in the lead up to the next step in the great tale of Arda in the Galaxy. Much will change, for good and for ill. Time alone shall tell.

12. Politics – Power – Purge

Chapter 12

Politics – Power – Purge

Twenty minutes prior, over the world of Kamino a fleet of no less than forty warships burst into normal space. Eight Venator-class star destroyers with several Acclamator-II assault vessels and CR90 Alderaanian corvettes under the command of the Galactic Republic. The lead vessel that unleashed a swarm of ARC-170s and support interceptors along with the other warships, was the Venator-class Endearing. The Captain managed the ship while Rear Admiral Canturn commanded the whole of the small fleet.

An older man of average height. He sported the dull gray cap and uniform of the Republican Officer class. He bore a frowning expression at seemingly all times, with hands pinned and clasped behind his back. His stance was firm and planted in a V. He was an image of the proper officer, though in the recent weeks since Palpatine's passing such figures had begun to be viewed with a certain critical eye of suspicion…

Nevertheless, Canturn had served the Republic dutifully and for many years. Even before the outbreak of the war he was one of very few men part of the Judicials. In his elder age he had grown a somewhat more common, in these days, mustache that sat atop his upper lip. Bushy but trimmed and well maintained. Deep blue harsh eyes from under the shadow of his cap stared ahead, and his fair skin showed creases along his dipped brow. Of greater wrinkled set was the divide between his brows atop his nose. Creased in concentration at seemingly all times.

About him, the crew of the Endearing tended to the ship. Reporting what needed reporting. Commanding what needed commanding. The Captain, a younger man of early thirties named Basser, stepped forward from behind Canturn. A click of his dark boots sounded his request for the Admiral's attention, and without turning Canturn loosed a curt sigh from his nostrils.

"Captain." Canturn greeted and gave implied grant for the lower ranking man to speak. Unseen, Basser bowed at his waist.

"Admiral, sir." His Coreward accented voice began. "All flight wings have reported green across the board. Deployment vehicles are on standby, awaiting your orders."

"Communications?"

"Prepped, sir." Basser responded efficiently quick. "No signs yet we have received any incoming communication requests or broadcasts from the planet."

"Not to be unexpected." Canturn sniffled. "Maintain readiness across the board. I must confer with the Chancellor."

"Of course, sir." Basser bowed again and clicked his boots. Stepping back and turning in place. Marching towards one of many officers sat at his terminal to relay command.

Canturn, for his part rolled his shoulders and gently patted his right breast of dust. He marched himself towards a lone terminal at the right of his current viewpoint within the forward-right spire of the Venator.

Inputting a few keys a low humming chime began to sound. A relay and communication request from Kamino, so far from the Core, sent back to Coruscant.

The wait was short, nonetheless. Communication to the Kaminoan System had long since been improved since the water world had grown significantly in importance to the Republic and the wider galaxy. In short order the chiming stopped, a buzzing sound rumbled and the small image of the Supreme Chancellor came into being in the usual blue holographic manner.

Bail Organa stood in his office, no doubt. His customary, at least at this point, gray suit was pristine upon him and form sitting. His dark hair slicked back and his dark features presenting the face of calm and cool. A demeanor that was much needed in these tumultuous days for the Republic.

"Chancellor, your Excellency." Canturn bowed his head.

"Admiral." Bail greeted in controlled and expected political politeness. "I would assume you've arrived at Kamino?"

"Correct, Eminence. So far no contact has been established, but all screens are in position. My forces are more than capable of securing all facilities with what arms we bring to bear."

"I appreciate both your candidness and preparedness, Admiral." Chancellor Organa nodded. The faint shadow of a tired smile at the corners of his lips as he proceeded.

"However, as we discussed, I would much rather we secure Kamino without bloodshed of any kind. But, better safe than sorry. The Senate wants this operation conducted swiftly and smoothly, Admiral. I entrust you to see it done."

"Yours and the Senate's faith in me is an honor, sir." Canturn bowed his head again.

"Shall I open a channel?" He asked, and Bail took a look to his right. Canturn assumed a gaggle of senators; very likely members of the Security Council, and his Vice Chair and Chancellor Mon Mothma were present. All the same, Canturn said nothing. The Chancellor returned his attention to Canturn nod nodded a single solemn bob of his head, and with a curt acknowledging bow, Canturn input into his system a call to Kamino across a broadcast across all channels. Everyone who could, was to hear this.

"This is Rear Admiral Uliver Canturn of the First Stellar Task Force operating under the command, and with authorization of the Galactic Republic! Its Supreme Chancellor, and its Senate have both sent me and my fleet in order so that we may come to swift resolution on all such matters pertaining to Kamino and the Republic! It is so that I shall send a code that will allow for direct communication with myself and the Supreme Chancellor so that these matters may be attended to." Canturn delivered with firmness and a puffed heave to his chest that emboldened his voice. The men of the bridge watched him do so. Some more obvious than others. The Admiral allowed a moment's pause to fill the air before he continued after, with the Chancellor silently appraising him and his speech in holographic form.

"Furthermore, your world, and indeed, your entire System is under my control! All Republic military assets in this and nearby systems are more than capable of conducting a siege and eventual capture of your world. The Republic, however, wishes to resolve the matter quickly and without undue loss of life. Be they clone, from among my men, or Kaminoan in origin. The Republic is not your enemy! However, all forces upon Kamino are to stand down, immediately! Any and all forms of attack upon myself, or my forces will be viewed as an act of war upon the Republic! You are outmatched. This is a fight you cannot, and will not win!" Canturn made sure to pronounce the world's very real political situation for all to hear. The tension in the bridge was quite palpable. All these men had been in battle at some point or another. Though, all such battles had been against the Separatist menace. Not the cloners. Not the very people who had mass produced their clone companion armies.

However, since the activation of Contingency Order 66 under the...deposed former Supreme Chancellor, questions had begun being asked. Difficult ones. With no clear or sufficient answer given. Communication had also broken down between the Republic and Kamino, in spite of the very powerful relays that made all communication very easy. Thus, it became evident, especially with certain persons in Republic custody feeding information to their jailers, that the Kaminoans realized they were in a precarious position.

Overtures had been made to the Prime Minister of Kamino. Dialogue began breaking down. It was clear the cloners were on the back-foot. The Republic also cut all communication lines between Kamino and the Grand Army. The clones were, themselves, under suspicion and with the war winding down many units were being...processed and called to remote Republic agri-worlds on a sort of informal leave. Indeed, Admiral Canturn's entire fleet and the forces upon it were made up of recruits that volunteered into the regular Republic Army, and not the clone Grand Army.

Perhaps the Kaminoans had little to no idea what was being planned by Palpatine? Perhaps the cloners had been unfortunate and unawares allies to the machinations of the Dark Lord, Darth Sidious himself? However, what dashed such ideas was the open revelation that was causing a stir in the political echelons of the Republic, and the general population. The now assumed dead Count Dooku's Sith title of Tyranus, was the same name of the being who had commissioned the bounty hunter Jango Fett. The genetic progenitor of all clones.

When the attache representing the Kaminoans on Coruscant had been recalled, there was little else to do but nip the problem, as Chancellor Organa and his cadre saw it, in the proverbial bud. Thus, the Task Force had been assembled and was now looming over Kamino. Tense, and awaiting the choice of the cloners.

For a long moment nothing else was said. The hum and rumble of the Venator's systems roiled. Outside of the forward viewport a wing of ARC-170s flew in defensive formation, while the men at their stations and terminals continued to monitor their systems uneasily. Awaiting something, anything from their Captain or Admiral. Chancellor Organa stood pensively. His right hand had risen to be at his chest where he rolled his thumb and forefinger together thoughtfully. Equally as pensive as the men aboard not only the Endearing but all vessels in the Task Force.

Then, a voice came.

"What are the terms of our occupation?" A low and emotionless male voice asked. Clearly a Kaminoan, but they did not introduce themselves. Canturn imagined the Prime Minister and his government, what accounted for one among the Kaminoans, were much like the Chancellor. A gaggle of men and women stood in the bleached and bright white rooms of Tipoca City. Flustered and of varying thought and opinion of what to do next.

Nonetheless, Canturn turned his gaze to the Chancellor. The dark man could be seen silently releasing a deep withheld breath. It was evident he was pleased they had responded at all rather than attempt to resist outright.

"This is Supreme Chancellor Organa of the Galactic Republic. I speak with the authority and powers invested into my Office by the Senate of the Republic. That said, I want to be clear that we; that is the government of the Republic, do not hold Kamino nor its people solely responsible for the events regarding the coup attempt. However," Bail cocked his head in silent pronouncement of the facts.

"However, it goes without saying that what occurred was due in large part due to the means in which your cloning facilities grew and...raised the clones. Thus, I come to the point." Bail continued.

"All clone units on Kamino will stand down and will be placed under the control of the Republic forces present. That is, Admiral Canturn. All affairs of Kaminoan civil society shall remain at the discretion of your government. However, no Kaminoan shall be allowed leave of your world lest given prior approval. Furthermore, access to all laboratories, all logs, all systems, all operations, all data and anyone who was party to the creation, implementation, growth, training and rearing, etc, of the Grand Army shall be not only expected, but demanded." Bail paused and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Canturn didn't know, nor could have known what thoughts ran through the Chancellor's mind as his right hand's thumb and forefinger continued to circle against one another.

"All operations of the cloning facilities, from production to training shall cease immediately." Bail continued firmly, though without ever raising his voice beyond a politician's stern tone. Like a father reprimanding a child with a wise seeming anecdote.

"These and others shall be officially presented to the Prime Minister by Admiral Canturn upon arrival on Kamino. The System will fall under total Republic control and protection. What investigations occur on Kamino; should they result in charges being leveled against any person or persons, shall be then conducted by our courts. In sum," Bail rattled off with, a sudden air of finality to his voice. Moving his low tone to a brisk and sudden snap that Canturn himself jolted in response to. Imagining its purpose was to offset the Kaminoans listening in. To instill and declare his authority, and impose his position upon them here and now.

"In sum these demands are the Republic's official stance on this matter as it stands. Should Kamino refuse, should your government refuse or attack, should you seek to hamper or harm the investigations, so on and so forth, there will be dire consequences. The Galactic Republic means Kamino no harm. However, our security, and our interests demand we commit to these operations and these parameters as I have listed. To that end," Bail lowered his voice once more. Standing tall...firm even. Regal, which made sense of the aristocrat from Alderaan.

"These are our terms. We await your reply." Bail ceded the 'floor' as it was. Canturn remained silent, hands clasped behind his back. Though he gave a single approving nod. Undirected, but he hoped the Supreme Chancellor knew he found the declaration to be quite good. Measured, but firm.

Canturn was a loyalist. That was to say, he was loyal to the Republic. The Supreme Chancellor was Bail Organa of Alderaan. That...position was not shared by all among the officer corps. Rumors, so far was all he had heard. Rumors and the grumblings of colleagues...perhaps a disappearance or two as well. Governors in the outer territories of the Republic were still refusing official summons to Coruscant. Some of them anyways. Many had, in fact, relinquished their 'illegal' position, whilst others were dragging their feet, or refusing outright.

Few wanted to admit it, but there were now zones of nominally Republic space under the control of...well petty dictators. Warlords even. They didn't command clone armies, of course. The clones under the Grand Army apparatus didn't follow illegal orders, and as far as their tenuous mindsets allowed them, the governors were not 'legally' positioned entities any longer.

Instead the rebellious ones had gathered local armies, and when that failed, as it often did, they found bands to formulate into an army. Vast sums of credits in the pockets of these men, and even a few women. The bigger problem, as far as Canturn was concerned was the officer corps.

As far as the rumors were, an odd sergeant, a lieutenant or two, and at least three colonels Canturn had been given the names of had supposedly 'disappeared.' Deserters. True believers in Palpatine and the coup, which wasn't a coup at all to them. Rather it had been a botched attempt by Palpatine to save the Republic from the true plotters. The conspicuously missing Jedi, and their friends in the 'corrupt' Senate. With the Security Bureau liquidated, and Republic Intelligence being purged it was any wonder some of the men with minds towards conspiracy had waited as long as they had before joining whichever governor turned tyrant they deemed worthy successor to Palpatine.

The officers took men with them, however. It was not that they had themselves defected. Picking to join a nascent rebellion rather than continue to serve the system they found to be corrupt. They took conditioned and trained soldiers with them. Loyal troops. None of them clones, of course. But men and women who had joined the Republic Army voluntarily and had received training enough to make them soldiers all the same. As effective as the clones? Perhaps not, but certainly not by much. In the end...they were all just sentients.

The worst of it, though, was that little was being done about it. Canturn assumed the political quagmire on Coruscant, and among the many departments and offices of the Republic that were spread across the galaxy, hampered any meaningful movement on the matter. For now, at least. This, however, would only serve to embolden such men and women. Such beings bent on assuming localized control and power. Who knows what their aspirational goals even were at that? Nothing good Canturn would guess. Worse still...Canturn knew of three admirals, two Rear and one Vice who had gone missing. Their ships too.

More and more the loyalists to the government on Coruscant began to feel an all too familiar nagging sensation. One of anxiety and stress. An ode of impending conflict that felt all to familiar like the ebbing ripples of inevitable civil war. They just ended one of those without a clear victory too.

No one, or at least hardly few wanted to admit it, but the cloning facilities on Kamino were now quite important to the Republic. Of course, they had always been. So too were the open-secret facilities on Coruscant's moons where 'lesser' cloning facilities had been set up. Kamino, however, was where the best of the best, so to speak, came from. Now the clones, even as rumblings brewed within the Senate to round them all up, arrest them, and some even wanted to imprison, or exile them all – while that occurred, Command and the Chancellor understood the clones were desperately needed. Not to prosecute the ending war, but to maintain order and hopefully stop another before it could come to fruition. That was the hope of course. It most certainly wasn't guaranteed.

At a time like this Canturn felt Organa was the best man for the role of Chancellor. Though, honestly, he wondered who would even want the job now after Palpatine? Certainly it must've been nightmarish on the best of days.

"We agree and submit to the terms." The same Kaminoan voice replied after the prolonged silence. Canturn felt his shoulders relax without realizing they had been at all in the first place. So too did Chancellor Organa loose another long and silent sigh. Nodding as a thin smile graced his lips.

"All open landing ports shall be sent to your fleet. All of our planetary forces are standing down."

"You have my and the thanks of the Republic." Bail began. "Let us facilitate a peaceful process towards ending any and all conflicts that have, or may have arisen. And, let me be clear, we come not as conquerors, but justice must be served to those who have brought grievous harm to the Republic." The use of the word 'grievous' almost felt like a sarcastic joke to Canturn. Though he highly doubted that. Even if the cyborg general's cruel visage flashed before his mind's eye.

"We understand, Chancellor." The voice coolly replied. The usual numb and flat monotone of the Kaminoan people shining on even in such a tense situation as this.

"All of Tipoca is an open city. Any and all other facilities and cities across Kamino shall follow suit."

"Thank you." Bail nodded again. Turning his holographically displayed eyes back to Canturn. "Admiral Canturn, you have my trust towards the conduction of the security operation. Please see it is not ill placed."

"I shan't, your Excellency, sir!" Canturn bowed at the hip.

"Very good, Admiral. I take my leave."

"Sir!" Canturn nodded, and in no time at all the visage of Organa buzzed out of sight.

Canturn ordered the landing troops to break while ARC-170s led them down into the atmosphere. A vast flight of hundreds of fighters and LAAT gunships descended across the watery world. Be it raining and storming or dull and relatively calm gray skies. All AA batteries remained silent. The clones on the 'ground' acting as security for the Kaminoans stood without blasters and welcomed the landing parties. Themselves squads upon squads, platoons and platoons of men from across the Republic marshaling and setting up security zones planned beforehand. Whilst the fighter and interceptor wings set up security zones in the air.

Within the standard day Kamino was swiftly secured. The cloning facilities were filled with what would seem a conquering army, in spite of Chancellor Organa's words. But, nothing could be done of that. Many Kaminoans were, by prior listing sought out, and those found were arrested to very minor protest from the others. Those cloners, and those scientists; those as were chiefly sought for their work in the creation of the clone army...many had managed to disappear. No doubt with the support of the flimsy government now in command of the world. They would be hunted down like the rest of this grand conspiracy.

Scientists, data miners, tech experts and all manner of intelligent men and women were brought down once the world was secured. Pouring over and collecting what data was to be found. Schematics, plans and orders. How were the Contingency Orders indoctrinated into the clones? This would be learned presently. How much too, did the Kaminoans know? All would be learned one way or another.

---

The days on trek through the northern reaches of Khand had been hot and stifling during the day upon horseback. Then at night it had been abysmally cold in thatched camps. The traveling band of men had set up the small dingy camps during the nights where the campfire alone kept Taruk warm as he bundled himself about his robes. He chose to mostly keep to himself. When spoken to it was almost always exclusively done by Prince Amathir's man, Kaludir.

The men representing that as of yet unseen Ganghûthil kept to themselves. Drinking what water, and Taruk quickly learned, what ale they had brought with them. Hooting and chortling around the fire. Taruk didn't doubt speaking ill of him, his portly size and well-mannered politician's personality. He would endure it. Many a man of politics and power had to endure the sneering of those beyond its circles. They did not understand how power was brokered and bartered and played, so they mocked it. Wholly unaware that their snide remarks, and their lackadaisical belief in their simplistic moral superiority was just how and why those who commanded and led them did thus. They had no consciousness for themselves to lead. In this way Taruk found their mockery, of not just these men, but all across the galaxy who looked down on him, amusing.

Nevertheless, Taruk found time to sleep at night. Aided by and likely commanded of Kaludir to keep him well. Eventually as the days wore on and Taruk grew more anxious for it to end, the deserts of Khand began to give way to different terrain. The horses had been rode hard and fast. Taruk had found the steeds greatly tended. Treated nigh as members of the camp by the riders, including Kaludir. For their proper tending they rode faster than many of the horses Taruk had yet seen on this planet. Which was how they came so quickly through the great sands, Taruk would guess which would have taken less able horses and riders far longer.

The sands gave way to a vast open plateau. Or rather, a great plain, or steppe. Far...far the flatland went for leagues and miles. The company traveled on and over the greenery of the swaying grass where wind came and went unabated by mountains and few trees. Much as the sands of the deserts it would almost seem to go on forever. One lost upon foot would, or could at the least, have walked for hours and days and see nothing but the same flat terrain with the barest changes in elevation or the odd hill here and there.

Though, with time, the company came upon what could best be described as a way station by Taruk. A wooden built lodge of sorts with a wide pen for horses to graze about and be tended by efficient stable hands. Wells with water were freely given to weary travelers upon their way to and fro. Not even a word towards charge or compensation made. While the men who seemed to maintain the lodge sported similar dress, look and demeanor as those Taruk traveled with. Paying a special reverence to Ganghûthil's Herald, Halugu.

Cots were available. Including food for journeying on, or to eat in a rough equivalent to a restaurant or bar. However, to Taruk's unspoken dissatisfaction, they didn't stay. Rather, taking more water in pouches and canteens, the men traded their horses for new and well-rested steeds available at the stable. Indeed trading off their saddles and goods to horses that, as Taruk learned, were the horses that belonged to the men. Having traded them off for the steeds brought to pick Taruk up days prior.

Kaludir informed him later that such practice was normal for the men of Khand and far Rhûn. Horse stables and stations were a common sight for messengers, and travelers. Be they men of the Emperor, when they had a stable and declared one, or the odd man upon his way. Taruk found it a quaint but effective system. A precursor perhaps to a proper mailing system as industrialized, that was to Taruk, civilized societies had. He kept that to himself, though.

As the company traveled over the great plain in the distant east there started to show signs of civilization as had gone unseen since Taruk had left Minas Tirith. There was a mighty great river that ran from north down south. Kaludir made not that it, like the mighty Anduin ran from a far northern mountain range of some significance or another. This river was perhaps not as great and long as the Anduin, but not by much. To the south it ran into the great sea, and it connected to smaller rivers that acted as tributaries along its far expanse. One such was near and came from the east feeding into the river Taruk had learned was called locally the Khuanna River. Its meaning wasn't revealed to him.

Nevertheless, beyond the great Khuanna and nestled about the intersecting smaller river was a great city. Beyond even that was a forest that was thick in green leaves. The city was, however, more important and of more interest to Taruk as they neared it. The river Khuanna acted as a natural defense. Any fording or crossing would be difficult and you would have a vast army tightly packed along the opposing bank, but for the north where you would be crammed against the forest to the east, the river to your west, and the city at your south with a plain leading up north alongside the forest.

The city itself was rimmed by a great wall. Square and angular. The tops of the wall were lined in blocks that went at intervals allowing one to see guards marching back and forth or standing upon ramparts where flowed triangular flags that bore many unknown symbols to Taruk as they approached the walls. They went on for many leagues, while beyond the walls were small encampments where soldiers showing many different cloths and manners were stood on patrol and ready for battle. Indeed, the sense Taruk got as they drew near and passed watchful eyes was a city on alert and ready for war. Itself having become a war camp.

The faces of the men and women, some moving carts to and from the city carrying goods and wares, were not like the men of the west, as to be expected. They resembled those from Kuat, as Taruk could best describe them. Almond shaped eyes that were nearly all a shade of brown. Whilst all showed variance of creamy fair flesh to darker tans, but never brown shades. At least not here. There were soldiers wearing simple, almost wicker like armor on their bodies. Underneath were shirts of blues and whites in dirty shambles.

While a rare sight was that of men as Taruk had been told of before leaving Minas Tirith. Men garbed in burgundy or red cloth adorned across their bodies golden or the finest of copper plating with their faces masked. Though their skin was of darker shade, and their demeanor and look different from the masses about the city or more shabbily dressed counterparts. Whilst there were other soldiers, other warriors. Horse bound and drawn. These were rugged, of similar countenance to the more shabby men atop the walls. Similar in sound when speaking to Halugu.

These men were scattered more readily and abundantly throughout the city as Taruk and the company passed through the great western gates. Blackened doors that rose three to four men over Taruk's head. Made of metal and perhaps stone interwoven and probably of great effort to close or open. The walls were meters thick though Taruk didn't bother to try and guess of a gray stone craft. While the city was far and wide once within. Many stone homes and buildings were laden about a path made for walking. Interlaced the road were small plots where trees had been planted of some fine origination. Their leaves of various shades. Pink and red, or shivering golden yellow. Some were mossier than others, flicking wavy strands fell and coated those who sat under in shadow where they planted themselves along stone benches.

The smells of markets at work churning out food and ales was abundant. While patrols of men along horses casting beady and distrusting looks also abounded. The people walking about gave these men wide berth. Showing no sign of wanting to rouse their ire and wrath. Traveling now with Halugu made these men show deference and respect. Bowing their heads as they passed though Halugu paid them little mind.

The streets were lined with stone. Every clopping movement of the horses sounded out and agitated Taruk. He hated the clopping and clattering noises and they came incessant with every step and the multitude of horses about. Grating his teeth he persevered, and saw the stone marts and markets. Open rectangular slits in the sides of buildings where men sat and received bowls full of food. Watery soups filled with noddles and meats and what herbs were available. Taruk could even find himself wishing to try a taste of some based on the burning spices that reached his nose. Some familiar scents too, though he could not place them off the top of his head.

The clanging of tools as blacksmiths tended their wares and sold swords and spears. Mending the crafts of those who brought them to the smiths. Some were tools but most were weapons. Though Taruk supposed the definition of which item was which, tool or weapon, depended on who you asked. Nevertheless, the city bustled. Thousands upon thousands lived here. The width and length, the sheer size of the city was immense. Not of such grandeur as the rising Minas Tirith, but no less massive and great in a means and manner all its own. The city was the heart and center, the capital of the Rhûnnic lands, known locally and wide as Undaqoram. Where, nestled to the north and near the heart of the great city was the Eternal Palace.

Nearing it one could see cleaner stone streets, and more affluent folk. Simple dress and simple shirt gave way to finer dresses of silk upon very fine women carrying themselves with dignity and affluence. The men too sported robes and servants near at hand to serve. Golden shirts pressed against their masculine frames by white cloths about their waists. Stitched into them white swirls and designs of some manner unknown but of seeming significance to Taruk.

The Palace was cordoned off from the rest of the city. To be expected. An inner wall of equal height and thickness lay between Taruk and his company and the denizens of the city. Atop it were seen men like those upon horse mingling with those of burgundy cloth. The lesser soldiery of wicker armor not to be seen. The Palace grounds were cut off by a built moat. A canal had been tunneled through the city that drained water from the great river into a person-deep channel that made the moat. The gateway into the Palace would have the drawbridge planted against it and raised when closed. It was opened, and thus the bridge was planted down, allowing one inside, though guarded by soldiers in burgundy robes, their faces clothed and without expression, sporting square shields of glimmering copper and spears stood up towards the sky planted into the ground, and held in their right hands.

The company crossed the bridge, where, on either side of the bridge, were seen interlaced chains made of black metal. The bridge let down they were ridged and unmoved. While the bridge was made of thick and well kept wood, the company crossed to the sound of horseshoes upon the wood, and upon sight of Halugu; who raised a square metal plate that had been pressed with what Taruk assumed to be a royal symbol, the guarding men drew away. Three on one side, and three the other. Thus opening the Palace grounds to Taruk and company.

Within, directly ahead lay the main Palace, or the Eternal Palace, as Kaludir and Halugu made known its name in Westron. It was a long rectangular building. A wide base that ran the length of the courtyard save but for small spaces between itself and the great wall. Pillars ran along the outer rim. Great golden things wrapped about with statues like that of ascending dragons or serpents. Past these pillars was the actual building under the shade of the jutting roof, itself held up by the pillars.

The Palace was set up along an elevated base. Itself led up by a magnificent marble white staircase. At its bottom guarded at either side by two more guards in pristine reddish-burgundy robes and golden seeming armor. At the top, two more men standing almost as still as statues. Upon the elevated platform before one reached the palace and outer pillars, one was met by a statue of a figure. A human Taruk would guess. Himself robed in a great monarch's set of armor. In his right hand raised was a spear that was angled up and towards the west, while in his left hand down by his hip was the helm likely of their enemies, no head, luckily to be seen. Their armor did not allow the masons who crafted the statue to give him facial expression but for the eyes. Even while made of stone, they were set, daring and perhaps even cruel in their intent.

The statue itself was set in a plot directly before the main entrance which was shadowed back behind the pillars.

The roof of the Palace ascended as another layer, and then another. Rising and thinning. Forming a sort of pyramidal structure, but more in line with that of a ziggurat. Taruk swore there was a name for such a style...ah yes! He remembered, pagoda. It was not wholly unknown to him.

The courtyard that lay ahead of the Palace was a wide open place. To the right lay a well tended garden. A fountain at its heart cut in stone that resembled a great waterfall where real water fell among moss into a circular pool filled with freshwater fish. Themselves being fed by a servant throwing food into the water. About the fountain Taruk saw swept stone paths laid between shrubs of brilliant flowers. Ranging from purple, pink, yellow and all shimmering manner of colors. Trees stood high, of the mossy type. Great strung strands fell and swayed in the dull winds like a woman's long head of hair. It was a thick trunk, the main one Taruk looked upon. Wide and powerful while smaller lesser trees of varying pines and leaves were spread about. Gathered likely from the corners of the empire, and planted to speak of the vast territory the Emperor ruled. Those that Taruk imagined could survive in this climate, at least.

The left side of the courtyard sported a few small buildings for what Taruk assumed to be goods for the palace along with the local guardhouse. Though, ahead and up along the elevated level where the Palace sat Taruk could see from a distance many men about. So far no women, which was expected.

All the men were robed one way or another, but there was one type that all seemed to be wearing the same uniform. Brilliant almost shimmering orange tunic robes that fell to their feet. Long and sagging sleeves that covered their arms, and their hands were folded across into either. Bound about their waists were black sashes and all of them sported bare utterly hairless heads.

These men were sat about in groups of five or more. Sitting upon their knees. Humming, chanting and groaning from their throats in some kind of meditation. Taruk was instantly reminded of the Jedi and their own rituals he had seen both near and from afar in days past. These men were ignored by all others about.

While similarly dressed, though more elegant and richly woven men walked in pairs of two or so. Speaking in hushed whispers or meandering through the courtyard. Even without meeting one of these, Taruk guessed them to be advisors and members of the monarch's bureaucracy. He would be proven correct in time. As well, he would learn they were all...eunuchs.

He was quite glad the Republic didn't call for their advisory class to do the same.

At long last the company rode to the left near the guardhouse where a stable was. Servants came forward, bowing and submissive. They took the steeds as Halugu and his men jumped off their horses, and Taruk was let down by aid of one such stable hand. Kaludir followed and Taruk loosed a relieved sigh, absently patting his robed chest and gawking about.

"It is good to finally get of the horse!"

"Indeed." Kaludir agreed. He tended to do that, and Taruk began to suspect the man agreed with most things anyone said. It seemed to help keep the other person talking. The more they talked, the more one heard, and the more one learned. The man, Amathir's man, was an interesting specimen. What this world perhaps could consider alike to a being Taruk would call an intelligence agent. Spy worked too.

"Now, my Lord Nell, listen." Kaludir began turning to Taruk and using his assumed name. The others, Halugu included conferred with a guard who came marching from the guardhouse. Their tongue a throaty, upper back-throated sound still that set Taruk on edge. Though...it was unique.

"As guests of the most esteemed Emperor we have certain protocols we must maintain. For one, never assume nor pronounce his Eminence the Grand Protector Ganghûthil as Emperor. That would be his brother, His Majesty Takughíl."

"I've heard of rumblings…" Taruk added to which Kaludir nodded.

"Takughíl is young, younger certainly than Ganghûthil. At present Ganghûthil has taken his brother hostage without as much being told to the young emperor. Their brother by way of their father, Borgus, wages war upon both from the west. At this time they are winning, but Borgus is still a valid threat. Use of such knowledge may come in handy."

"Hmm...I see." Taruk nodded, understanding what Kaludir meant. No negotiation was good without prior useful knowledge.

"That said, we shall meet with the Emperor in a day's time. For now it is customary for any and all guests, no matter their importance to wait. The Emperor does not make time to meet with anyone until they remember they are but his guests."

"So be it." Taruk sighed. "I understand the game must be played, my friend."

"Good." Kaludir nodded only after appraising Taruk up and down once more. He continued.

"Understand, the situation and temperament here in the east is unlike that of the south. Harad is disparate, Rhûn is unified, and in so, separated more violently. The civil war is brutal, but there are scores of men. Here in the eastern reaches the vast majority of the peoples are of the Achisen people. Emperor Takughíl is of these people. Their men were those as manned the wall leading into the city, as I presume you noticed?"

"I did." Taruk nodded. Remembering the wicker armor and poorer countenance of those men.

"Good. Rhûn has many peoples, like and unalike. These men, those who serve Ganghûthil are of the horsemen. Khand and its Variags. Khandish or Khandi you can call them. Either way they are more nomadic by nature, but they were, and are still bound to serve the Emperor of Rhûn. Ganghûthil, Takughíl and Borgus' father, the passed Úndrathill took many wives and many concubines. Each of their mothers came from a separate region of the Empire. Though the Achisen and Khandi are similar in look, they are separate by ways and culture. More distinct than them are the men in the red cloth."

"The guards?"

"Here within the palace, yes. These men are the elite warriors and soldiers of Rhûn. They come from the lands to the north known as Mershpa. The Mershpian people are darker in skin, similar in some regards to the men of the west, and highly trained warriors upon their own two feet. Their horsemen are able but not like the people of Khand. Their forces, unlike those of Khand have split. Some have remained with Takughíl out of loyalty to Úndrathill who was of their kin. Takughíl is by way of his mother more aligned with the Achisen ways and culture, however."

"I presume Borgus is…?"

"Of pure Mershpa stock. Úndrathill's first wife was of his people, and Borgus is eldest among his children, but Úndrathill took to the Achisen people, and their...princesses."

"Ah." Taruk nodded as s smirk slid along his face. This was quite a bit of information. Some he had known before from reading up on the men of the east from what few accounts Minas Tirith's libraries had. This little lesson by Kaludir was, nevertheless, appreciated. Done quite suddenly and quickly, as it may be.

"It stands to reason then that the majority of Mershpa people are aligned with Borgus?" Taruk whispered as to not draw the attention of Halugu and the other guards.

"Correct. Many among the Achisen to the north and east are also sympathetic to Borgus. But, this stems from distaste of Ganghûthil. The Achisen would prefer neither Khandi nor Mershpian sit upon the Golden Throne."

"Aristocrats…" Taruk scoffed. "Very well. You have my thanks, Kaludir. Perhaps while we await our benefactor we can speak more?"

"Certainly." Kaludir bowed just as Halugu came marching over. Forcing both me to turn towards him. He bore an ill look from under his masked face. Though, the man always did.

"His most High, the Emperor cannot see to his guests today." Halugu informed with a distinctly sarcastic sympathy to his voice. Taruk ignored it.

"As well, the Grand Protector is unable to meet with either of you. However, you shall be provided rooms here on the Palace grounds. These servants shall direct you both. Before the Emperor can be seen you must attend to cleaning yourselves, the bathhouses shall be showed to you, Lord Nell. Though I suspect my Lord Kaludir knows of them?"

"From prior visit, I do."

"Good." Halugu nodded. "See to it you both clean yourselves before you meet with the Most High. That said, I must attend to my duties." Halugu pressed his hands together as though to make a prayer. He stepped back pace upon pace, and his voice betrayed his stance. Sarcastic and unkind. Both Taruk and Kaludir bowed respectfully all the same while four young men in servants white robes approached and bowed far at the hips.

Leading both men into the palace and to their finely prepared rooms. The floors of cleanly swept marble stones lined with rugs. The walls littered with hung tapestries from far off lands, and paintings of battles and idyllic mountain scenery Taruk had no knowledge of. The walls were of a painted shining crimson where the ceiling and floor were lined with gold. The doors opened to all rooms in a sliding fashion while others were beaded, and had no traditional door. Emerald statues, golden jewels, rubies set upon stones of marble beauty crafted in onyx black stone...the interior of the palace was a dreamy place filled with color and mood while scents lingered from oils and perfumes.

The baths were warm, and the servants quite attentive.

Taruk didn't think he'd mind waiting a day to meet with the Emperor and Ganghûthil after all.

---

Marching himself through the grasslands of the great plain all the Jedi found themselves on, the lone member of their Order dragged with him a durasteel box. His face was deeply askew and frowning while his steely eyes bore an equal unhappiness. He came to a sort of center about the camp. The thousands of Jedi had set themselves up near the many dozens of ships that had whisked them to this world. Some had their cots and their barest blankets or beds on the ships, and many more slept on the dirt and grass in tents provided by the local King. There centered among all the ships, somewhat at least, there had formed an impromptu center.

The Jedi slammed the box down into the dirt, and in a fluid motion stepped himself up onto it. Elevating himself and catching the eyes of Jedi near and further off. Especially as he raised both arms out at either side, and utilized the Force to not only raise his voice as he began to speak, but ripple out and call all near to listen. Many Jedi further off felt the summons, and while some didn't move or couldn't be bothered for the dull call, many did circle in with mild interest.

"My brothers and sisters!" The Jedi called. His blackened hair swept back on his head, and a shaven beard upon his face had begun to grow once more into a shadow along chin and around lips.

"Brothers and sisters, I request but a small moment of your time! All of you!" He continued. "Some may know me! Many do not. I am but a one member of our Order, I do not expect everyone to know my name or face, but you can all call me Kolvori." Jedi Knight Kolvori pressed both hands into his tunic shirt and then continued as mute faces, and cocked brows watched him. A few murmurs swept over the Jedi further back. As members of the High Council were stirred and began moving in as they either felt Kolvori's call through the Force, or heard the whispering and saw the Jedi move towards...something.

"The Order, brothers and sisters...the Order! It does not need to be said, I certainly don't think so, that our Order has suffered horrific a wound! So many of our number, thousands upon thousands were slain by those we once countered as our allies in the fight to defend the Galactic Republic! The clone armies of said Republic fired upon and killed us! From masters who sat on the High Council, to padawans serving alongside their masters in the fields of war far and wide across the galaxy! We were betrayed, and more we were slaughtered!" Kolvori roused and repeated what all knew well enough.

"We have suffered and we have found refuge here. Here on this world in a great plain of grass where we are forced to live in tents and on the dirt. Now, of course we Jedi do not feel owed great pleasures. We sacrifice worldly pleasure and waste. This is not what I want to talk about, but let me remind you all how we have been driven here. We were butchered! We were killed for doing our duty! Duty not only to the Republic, and not only the people of this ungrateful galaxy, but duty to each other! Duty as Jedi."

"What is he on about?" Master Ti intoned as she stepped further in from the outer bounds of the circle of Jedi formed watching and listening. Beside her, Master Windu came forward with a noticeable limp still upon his body and with him, Master Yoda who leaned onto his gimmer stick, giving a throaty groan and hum. His green ears rising in attention as he listened like the rest.

"The Jedi Order has been wounded, but due to the valiant effort of all of us – all of us, we have survived! Those who lived and those who died! Those who scrambled to battle the clones in the halls of our lost great Temple, and those who then battled the Supreme Chancellor, the Sith Lord himself! We yet live, but what now can we do? What now must we do? We are without our home. We are without even the Republic! We are without the war, and we are without purpose. We cannot even leave this world as lost brothers and sisters come to us still under the belief they will be shot at by clones, or otherwise fearful of a galaxy we once fought to protect. We are adrift in the dark! So, I ask again, what must we, and what can we do?" Kolvori carried on. It was...perplexing to some who watched and listened. The man had hardly been one to speak to a crowd. Though his opinions had always been readily and freely given. Especially when not asked for. So...in a way it wasn't all too strange to have him speaking now like a carnival barker or snake oil salesman.

As Kolvori continued, A'Sharad Hett emerged from his tent. His eyes set upon Kolvori, his brow dipping low and his arms folding over his chest as a long drawn out sigh rumbled from his chest. Yet, he said nothing. For now. He certainly, already, imagined he would have a lot to say to Kolvori after his little speech was done and over with.

"We know what the High Council has called for. I respect our masters upon the most esteemed Council, of course! I am a firm believer in our ways, and most especially our Code. Which is why I dread for what is coming, my brothers and sisters. The Council has ordained that a Conclave such as has not been called in many long years should occur here upon the world of Arda. We are, all of us, to come together and review ourselves. To imagine and conclude what it is the Jedi have to do. Do we remain loyal to the Republic? Even after they've killed thousands of us? I know my position, but shall not say it. All of you should formulate one yourself on that matter." Kolvori offered, though his next sentiment was quite contradictory.

"Should we then change ourselves as an Order? Should we throw the Code to the side for the sake of 'modernization?!' What is modernization?! What is this ideal? There are some, and I have heard them since arriving to Arda – there are some among our Order who think we have lost our way. That the Jedi Order has lost touch with the people of the galaxy and that is why they hate us. They hate us, even after we save them! Even after we bring down criminals, and their organizations. They hate us after we've prosecuted a war to help bring down a tyranny managed by Count Dooku. Certainly one of our number, but a traitor who we have denounced time and again! The galaxy and its people hate us after we lend healing hands to wounded men and ailing sick! They hate us after we have served the sick and poor with foodstuffs and supplies! They hate us after we have evacuated peoples from dying worlds, and from failing space stations! The people hate us! That is the truth! So, why then should we change ourselves when the galaxy is unwilling to and has never changed for the good of themselves, and itself?! Why should those who labor to bring good into the galaxy lower themselves, ourselves, to stoop to their level in order to earn...what?! Their adoration?! Their love?! Their respect?! Where then was that when we were dying for them?! Where?!" Kolvori gave heaving breath as he spoke at length.

"I refute this notion! I denounce it as a Jedi with but my barest of opinions to share. I am one, and I know my word may count for little. I cannot, however, simply stand by and allow us to believe we are or were at fault for our own betrayal! To this, I wish to say, brothers and sisters – the Conclave we are to have will decide our future and we must make our voices known. There will be voices at the Conclave from the vast spectrum of our number and our Order. From those of us who heed the High Council and follow the Code as it was laid down. To the Altisians and their allowance of attachments, and the Green Jedi who serve Corellia more readily than anywhere else." To the mention of these two sects of the Jedi; some of them stood among the crowd and grumbled, more Jedi seemed to be turned off by Kolvori's agitation. Though...not all.

"Someone should get him to quiet down. This helps no one." Mace uttered at the last. Shaak appreciated that Master Windu said it. Considering he among all the Council seemed to respect Kolvori the most. Though, even he didn't quite see eye to eye with the young up and comer.

"Hmm, no." Yoda shook his head. "Disagree we can, but interfere, we cannot. Allowed to speak his mind, a Jedi must be."

"He is agitating, Master. This is less about a Jedi's view of the Code and...politics." Mace grumbled, as though a slew of bad memories cast themselves like a shadow over his mind. Indeed they did. As they did Shaak's and Yoda's. Years...decades...and centuries of politics in service to the Republic. Kolvori, like all other Jedi was merely continuing the legacy of what had happened to the Order. Though, no organization fully escapes politics, the Order had somehow managed to steep itself into it. At great cost and to great damage. One's opinion of the Code, of the Jedi itself, and of politics was common among any and all Jedi. But, to stand upon a box and proclaim, and postulate and gesticulate as a political officer as Kolvori was? That was new, and it was because of how far the Jedi had gone. What the Clone Wars and what Palpatine had done...and what they had allowed themselves to become. The Conclave couldn't come any sooner. It needed to happen.

"Politics it may be, take from him his opinion, we cannot." Yoda tapped the gimmer stick into the dirt. "At the Conclave his opinion, repeated it will be. Stating it aloud now, no difference shall it make. Let those who hear it, hear it. Come to their own conclusions all Jedi must. To grow as an Order, do this we must. As we have left the Republic to tend to itself in these hard times, hard as it may be, did it we have. Painful growth can be, painful it is. Necessary sometimes, pain is. To become better, to become stronger, to learn and to grow. Not pain for pain's sake. The way of the Sith and the Dark Side, that is."

"You're right, Master." Mace nodded.

"Hmm." Yoda hummed. His ears turning down as Shaak and Mace could both sense that Yoda didn't like Kolvori's innate instigation. Troubling enough that was. Shaak thought...doubly troubling was the fact that man was part of Master Hett's Covenant and its WatchCircle. She shook her head. Her lekku shivering in agitation that she fought to release into the Force. Kolvori went on, and as he did some Jedi turned and walked off. For various reasons either losing interest, or becoming annoyed and oppositional with him. The crowd would thin, but a small number would remain and hear his whole speech. Long winded as it was and politely railing against the ideas of change and modification of the Order or the Code. The subtle inflections of denouncing those who turned away from the Code in secret or in the open. It made sense, considering it was Kolvori's spying that had led to the recreation of the Covenant. Though it wasn't hard to spot the underhanded and subtle implication. The dissatisfaction being leveled against one, Anakin Skywalker.

After all, everyone knew he had a wife, and children.

And now, Kolvori had a small, very small, but all too real following of like minded Jedi.

"Force be with us." Shaak intoned after all was said and done.

---

The door slid open with a hiss. The building was itself a prefabrication. Many such modules would be set down across the galaxy for all manner of needs. Mining operations, or colonization efforts. Sometimes used by pirates and smugglers to begin building bases and outposts on remote worlds.

They were metallic buildings made for quick transport that contained generators that ran on both solar energy and, when necessary, fuel generators. Shabby and not meant for long term occupation that rarely sported amenities outright. Beyond wall posts for electronics, and onboard lighting that always hummed and illuminated the oftentimes square rooms in brilliant, perhaps even blinding, white light.

This particular prefab building was a longer rectangular variation which had a sleek arched roof on the outside. Several such buildings had been planted down onto the surface of the fourth moon of the gas giant Yavin already. While outside the droids cleared ancient ruins and got to work under direction of a long thought dead red skinned alien subspecies at repairing the many temples. The world seeing more action and more civilized life in these last days than it had in many centuries. Perhaps even millennia.

As the doorway slid open and revealed the dark outside of the forested moon, from within streamed out the brilliant white light. Though, there were many floodlights outside too that had been setup to give the red skinned beings, the Massassi they were called, aid to readjust to their return. Apparently, somehow or someway with Force magic of some kind, they had been long trapped without bodies. To be granted them again by the dark haired Sith that now stood upon his temple grounds and watched everything happen around him. A starry-eyed demeanor to him and glint as anything and everything seemed wondrous to him. Another bit of Force, Jedi or Sith magic, having also left him trapped until recently.

Within the prefabbed room, the being who sought entrance ducked his head under the lower than average doorway, inside. His own body white, and every step he took causing a whir of gears. A cloak about himself, and reptilian eyes narrowing. Adjusting to the streaming light that now assailed them. General Grievous turned left over right, the door shutting behind him as he did. Under his claw shaped feet a simple rug was placed that led from the doorway inside. Pressed down by magnets underneath while the rest of the floor, minus said rug, was cold metal. Certainly cooler than outside during the day where an endless tropical balminess even caused the General to feel discomfort by way of his artificial nerve receptors.

As his eyes adjusted, the General found his intended target. Further back within the prefab, sat upon a simple lounge chair sat Vica, or at least what body the one inside her had formed. Sauron, more likely was in control of the body, especially considering the activity underway as Grievous saw. The lounge chair sat in a dimmer section of the prefabrication. Further away from the blinding white light in the ceiling center. Set next to their chair was a simple wooden table with little to show in the way of garishness. Opposite the seat against the wall was a shelf that was lined with a few lazily placed unopened holobooks along with some tomes and papers.

With their attire lowered across their face, Grievous could see that the body was more or less that of the woman he had known upon Arda. Vica in her totality, minus what seemed to be her eyes. They carried that familiar fire within them. A literal thing with dark slits at the center much as his own, but far more brooding and awe inspiring.

Upon finding his quarry, Grievous stood in place and found himself planting his hands behind his back. Awaiting allowance into the room proper. Little realizing he had placed himself once more into a familiar position of obsequiousness. Though, even if he had realized the matter, Grievous had long become more comfortable with Sauron over the course of their burgeoning alliance over the matter of weeks. More so than he had ever with Sidious, and Dooku...that was a different matter, but even in regard to the dead old human, Grievous could reflect. Having done so, he would find many reasons to grow angry, and discomforted with how he was treated.

The assumption of his failures when few else could have accomplished what he had for the Confederacy and the two Sith. The training he endured to kill Jedi, worked to his benefit but set him up as the most available scapegoat. Grievous didn't like dwelling on the matter too much anymore. Those days and that situation was done. Now was the time of the new Confederacy, and a new dawn for a new era. One he would be part of, lead forward in his own way alongside Sauron. This Lord's mind...conniving and calculated in a way neither Dooku nor Sidious' had been. Alike...but different. Age and intelligence beyond that of normal beings. He, Sauron, wasn't normal at all, of course.

"General." They greeted in Vica's voice. Itself in Sauron's controlled low cadence. Missing that all too familiar and often agitating flippant giddiness. Grievous relaxed his shoulders, and raised his head up higher. Standing to more formal attention as the Dark Lord from so backwater a world remained unmoved upon their lounge chair. In their hands was another holobook. Their eyes, casting ember light their own, drifted back and forth. Reading whatever words lay therein.

"I am happy to see you, my friend." Sauron carried on. "Have there been any updates you desire my wisdom for?"

"Perhaps." Grievous replied in his usual slightly mechanical hiss.

"Forgive the ill manner, General. Please come in." Sauron intoned and pressed a key to remember his place upon the holobook. Closing it after with a slight chime to the device. Grievous bowed his head and stepped forward. Coming to stand opposite of the two beings sharing the one body. Their eyes turning and remaining fixed upon Grievous. Such power within those fiery pits, Grievous so thought.

"Would you like a seat, my friend? Forgive the state of this place. It is, but temporary."

"I needn't one." Grievous assured.

"Very well."

"What are you reading?" Grievous wondered aloud. Not one to take often with books and the tales of dead men or beings who crafted stories far more interesting than those they lived. Grievous lived own his tale. Action called more than such things, but even still...he could not resist asking a being such as Sauron what they took interest in.

"This? Oh, but history of this fair galaxy. It is my most interesting pursuit at the moment. The countless wars that have been waged on a galactic scale, and those on a planetary or interplanetary basis too. The conflicts of mass death and genocide, as the word is, and those of liberation and 'righteous causes.' These things, so many of them having occurred whilst I waged war upon my world for thousands of years. It is...to me ironic."

"Why?" Grievous cocked his head.

"Well," Sauron shrugged nonchalantly and eased into his seat. "I, and others are thought to be uniquely vile, and wicked, and evil. These terms and descriptors are placed upon such beings as I for what we have done. Wars waged, actions undertaken that align or conform with a worldview. Yet, when I read these histories I find that the common man – and they need not necessarily be men, or human as I understand the word, but so many of them commit equally horrific acts. Oftentimes in pursuit of lesser goals. To think, if you but allow me a moment?" Grievous nodded and Sauron hummed. Seemingly grateful.

"To think, General, that I may wage war to perhaps loftily impose what I believe to be a better way of living and society, and be denounced as a monster is no great stretch of the imagination. Enemies, no matter for what reason or cause are best suited to denounce you a villain no matter what your intentions or skills may be. This applies to all things. Yet," Sauron raised their right index finger.

"A democratic leader, that is, one voted into power and one that does not subvert the 'will' of their people through coup and seizure of the apparatus of state – yet, such a being is more than capable of introducing legislation and laws that, once committed to, lead to the deaths of millions across one planet, two or three, and indeed a whole galaxy. These beings are not counted among the monstrous. A conqueror may take one's world, and bring food to a starving people. Defeated in the end, they are counted miserable, and those who took the grain are traitors. A Chancellor, a Minister or a President can facilitate an accumulation of wealth into the hands of a select few. Starving the masses of the imaginary means in which produce and goods are attained, that is, these 'credits' and other monetary instruments. These lesser men and women, whatever else, they and their children starve. They turn to robbery, thievery, and perhaps even murder. The instinct to survive is not driven out of mortal creatures. Not yet." Sauron intoned thoughtfully. Grievous followed and found the point; as of yet not completed by Sauron, all the same curious. In fact...Grievous found he agreed with the principle and the hypocrisy on display. The Republic had few friends among the Outer Rim for such bare and longstanding hypocrisy. Though few could put it into words, everyone knew the cause, and the means or rather, the source of the pain. The General listened on.

"Such leaders could, by way of their laws and economic systems cause a thousand to die. Ah, some would say this is so small a number as to be acceptable loss. Perhaps. Though if ten or hundred thousand die, or a million not through brute measures such as war, and these camps of death that have occurred throughout wars all through the galaxy's sordid history; rather if the dying comes of hunger, spice addiction, debasement for food and comfort and credit, then that is not 'tyranny.' That is a 'sad manifestation of a system working.' Working for whom, I wonder?" Sauron uttered sounding as though he knew the answer.

"There is no cabal. No secret organization managing all things to make beings suffer. It is their natural imperfect state, you see. They cannot order themselves. They cannot manage themselves. They cannot function as a society themselves! It is evident, and yet so few understand or see it."

"Then we make them see!" Grievous offered at the last. Bringing his right hand up. All six digits curling into a fist while a slight wheeze rattled from his lungs.

"There is no shame in imposing order when the order you bring is to the benefit of the mindless and the clueless! Even Sidious and Dooku felt such. Dooku would speak of the failing Republic, and the decadence! The failure to act for the vast majority but for the Senate to tend to the Senate. The corrupt leaders and their bank accounts."

"Little better is that which he made in response, no?" Sauron wondered, and Grievous felt a knee-jerk desire to refute his assertion! Yet, he paused and stopped himself. His anger subsided, and Grievous forced himself to recall the Separatist Council. Gunray, dead Poggle and Hill, and the rest of the rats upon that body.

"No."

"Of course not, the same inherent illness remains. The...ingredient inside of mortals that makes them curiously incapable of managing their own affairs. At times it seems possible. Close enough to realization. Then, those who play for power and wealth, their greed tempts them to assert and take for themselves that power. In doing so their egocentrism demands the accomplishments made by perceived or real enemies come before, those things must be terminated. In doing so it makes them feel good, and powerful. They accomplish the goal of undoing that which their opponents have done even if it was to the benefit of the whole. Believing, in their self-love that it was done altruistically, for the benefit of all."

"But we have the power to seize the apparatus of the Confederacy! We could rid ourselves of those corrupt blithering fools who are forcing a government upon countless lives this instant! Those who you, and I, who we allowed to do so, and who constantly request my attention to form this or that, and introduce this and the other!" Grievous flippantly spat, a slight cough loosening from him after as he racked and heaved. Shaking head side to side and continued.

"Do not think I don't want to do that, General. I have been quiet about the intentions I believe would best suit the galaxy and the Confederacy. But, you have always struck me as a...uninterested in politics, type."

"I am." Grievous agreed firmly and stopped another cough from snatching at his lungs by shaking his head. A low rasping sound did escape him, however.

"If, as you say, this system is cyclical and goes on and on...why not use the power you can, that we can, to upend it?"

"Hmm…" Sauron nodded. Remaining silent for a moment, he tilted the worn face of the woman up. Eyes met Grievous' own while a contemplative furrow along their shared brow formed.

"I have conducted many wars and many attempts in the past in order to bring about Order. However, I have...seen many of my errors. A clarity I did not previously have, but have been granted by, funnily in my mind, leaving Arda. In the weeks where I lounged away under Sidious, I had access to books and histories. Some of these are already known to me." He raised the holobook and then dropped it back into his lap.

"So many Sith, so many conquerors of different style and substance. Petty lords, kings, emperors, would be and outright tyrants. So many of them conducted themselves through a poor implementation of their political view. So many have thought to have discovered what could and would make their world or even the galaxy a better one. In the implementation of such ideals, whatever you may want to call them: democracy, authoritarianism, totalitarianism, dictatorship, oligarchy, kleptocracy, on and on the names – the end is very similar no matter what society or people. A replication of the beginning happens again. There are those who craft an ideology, those who implement it, and then the decline of those who inherit it. It may, through progression and revitalization limp on for many, many generations, but the end is foregone. Collapse, and reconstruction to carry on to the next cycle."

"Then I suppose, you have a new...better system?" Grievous dared inflect in a manner that clearly indicated doubt. Indeed, politics was not Grievous strong suit, and he knew it. He was a man of action, of fighting and war. Indeed he wanted to use the power of the Confederacy towards those ends, and if Sauron should like to play his politics internally, so be it. The General was willing to see if Sauron could, of course to his own ends.

Sauron, however, cast neither frown nor smile. His fiery eyes seemed to flare, and Grievous tilted his head at the subtle show of emotion. Though he could not discern what it was for, or meant. The Lord in the woman's body slid their left hand over the holobook for a long moment before replying.

"No." Sauron said earnestly. Then a smirk crawled along Vica's features, and Grievous felt an odd…sensation crawl about his nerve receptors at the sight.

"Not yet. But, I am working on it. With time, I shall craft something new, from the old. The people of the galaxy must have a system placed upon them that makes them orderly, but one that they surrender to. Far too many times have I and other conquerors and leaders sought to implement something to the benefit of the masses only for them to revolt and resist. My...failures have taught me that cruel lesson.'

'I have studied the political ideologies of many, many who have come before in this galaxy. The modern politics of the galaxy are wholly unusual to that of Arda, but they have advanced. Moved on from Feudalism, as the term is. There are wings, left and right. But, they are...inadequate. They are mortal constructs of how people 'ought' be ruled and regimented to the benefit of those who impose their ideologies. Be they true believers, or opportunists using the ideologies to their own benefit to assert control and attain power. Sidious, is a good example. He had no ideology. He simply utilized populism to gain an ardent following that now plagues the Republic in the aftermath of his toppling."

"Then why let the Separatist Council create political parties?" Grievous wondered. "We both know, I especially, what they will do. Sap the Confederacy of all its resources and wealth. The CIS is just a funnel. One where they suction all power and more importantly all credits into a few bank accounts and fewer hands."

"A good question, General." Sauron nodded. "People, grow complacent. People, like rebellion. People enjoy going against the tide, and more importantly they love refusing the will of their betters, their parents, their mothers…their fathers. One cannot simply bring about radical change by offering it to those who are numb to any change, they have yet to truly taste what the Separatist Council has to impose upon them with your backing."

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours." Sauron nodded as he led Grievous intellectually. "The only way their corrupt system will maintain is through the brute power of the droid armies and the navy. The Supreme Commander, they fear, but they also believe you are as you were under Dooku. With one meeting they believe you are leashed by me, and to me. In this way they think they are safe from your ire and lack of politics. Your lacking greed impulse. For which I commend you."

"Hmm…" Grievous grumbled. Rage roiling within as the Council members came to mind. They would think him re-leashed. Once more at another's service! Tethered and brought to the same level as an ack dog at their master's foot. Yet...Sauron did not see it that way. That once more brought churning within Grievous a sort of...adoration. A respect he had not felt for either Dooku or Sidious. Less so Sidious, but far greater than that as he had once held for Dooku, certainly.

"The political system the Separatist leaders are creating will be a base oligarchy. An authoritarian state bent on stealing and accumulating as much wealth into its systems and their bank accounts as possible. The only thing that shall stand between them and the people across the millions of systems are the droid armies. Ergo, you, General."

"Why then am I standing between them?"

"To the original point." Sauron motioned his left hand up. "The people will not accept something new, until they learn to yearn for it. In their hearts they will desire it. Change that is. They will not know it, nor have name towards it. Then, change shall come. It will start small, and it will build upon itself. At each and every turn as this new power, as this change gains momentum the Confederacy's political aristocracy shall seek to use what powers it has to quash it. They will use their police forces, and their gangster-like elements to bring death and ruin, but such tactics, as I well know, shall only galvanize their opposition. Once a sufficient period has passed, and the boil of this change reaches near the critical tipping point...then, General, you will no longer need protect them." Grievous now didn't know what Sauron meant...exactly. Though he could tell well enough the Dark Lord was inferring a coming, and eventual downfall of the likes of Gunray, Shu Mai and Wat Tambor.

The General reclined himself. Finding his head had leaned forward and down. Listening to Sauron as a man, a creature, engulfed and enraptured by the distant, but seemingly...tangible future the being seemed to have pictured already within the shared mind he inhabited. There was vision within Sauron. And for the first time in...many long years; since perhaps his time upon Kalee defending it against the Huk, Grievous felt...inspired. So odd an old sensation it near made him uncomfortable.

"You have put thought into this, my Lord." Grievous intoned and Sauron once more smirked thinly.

"But ideas, General. The pieces are moving. The game being played is long, but...I have waited centuries, and even thousands of years to enact my plans before. Needn't you worry. This game shall not take as long. For we have the power of mechanization, the steel fist of the droids, and the Confederacy as corrupt and mired as it is and shall become, it is no paper-nexu. The radical change shall…transcend all that which mortals have fostered before. A universal system, technically proficient, and ruled at the top by those who can maintain it without the mortal ingredient and thus, the great error." Sauron's tone was level, but Grievous detected an air of dreaminess to it. The ambition was not unwarranted and his demeanor and calm seemed as though that the dream was a foregone conclusion. No mere game of war and conquest. No mere coup to take over the Confederacy or even the Republic. This was different.

Sauron was bringing about a revolution. One that was to be galaxy wide. To upend the order of things as had been placed since time immemorial. Certainly as long as Grievous had lived and much before. Once more the cyborg General couldn't help but feel that thrill. That sense of being party to something unlike all ambitions and toils before. There was a cadence to Sauron. A projection of not only his power, but his firm conviction.

Grievous was not as wholly submitted as he figured the woman, Vica, to be. She had long found herself enamored with the Lord of Mordor. But, Grievous could not deny that in his time having actually conferred with Sauron, Grievous had come to see what she had. He was, as Grievous noted many times before, like and not alike the Sith. He had grander ambitions. Perhaps, one could even say, unrealistic ones. When one talked with him, however, one did not believe them beyond possibility. One became sure, so utterly sure in fact, that such things were not only possible, but inevitable.

It made Grievous feel, once more, inspired. He knew he would remain party to this. There was something new in what Sauron presented. Already he had beheld it. Already Grievous had seen the workings and even he had not understood the moves Sauron had wished done with Grievous' input and agreement. That alone, the respect, had won Sauron much...adoration in the Kaleesh. He would not state it aloud. Pride wouldn't allow it, but Grievous felt great admiration for Sauron. The being that had helped him break free of Sidious and Dooku's chains. Lead him to survive the Utapau trap, and seize power from Sidious over the Confederacy before he had been...defeated. Grievous understood now, here on Yavin IV where seemingly once dead men now walked again upon their own two feet, Sauron brought forth revolution. Grievous wanted to partake in that, now more than ever.

"Then there is much work to be done." Grievous at last commented, bowing his head. While Sauron agreed with a subtle nodding.

"There is. We have already begun. Servants and allies shall be called forth. Living and...perceived dead. Our hosts shall multiply and be improved upon. Great machinations shall be conjured to make victory an inevitability. So that when it comes, it is absolute. Though," Sauron hummed, and placed the holobook from his lap onto the stand beside the chair. Rising to their feet he turned and boldly swept their left arm out. Grasping Grievous' right shoulder from across and pulling him. The two began to walk side by side then. Sauron's arm dropping away.

"These are but the starting days, General. We have other concerns that must come first. Already the whispers have reached us of unknown enemies hiding in the dark. War...a different one must come first. But, even before then, the acquisition of allies and...servants alike this Exar Kun shall rise."

"His warriors show promise. The Massassi."

"Yes." Sauron agreed. "I shall, however, continue to depend on your input, and your skills in such matters, General. The Droid Armies, and the Navy is yours."

"And your...beasts?" Grievous wondered.

"As I said, improvement is at hand." The womanly face smiled. At once sinister as it was dreamy. Grievous hummed and nodded. The two pacing their way out of the prefab building into the open. Looking upon a circular stone plot set before a nearby temple. Where several Massassi dug from under great heaps of soil spear like axes of sorts called lanvaroks. Able to toss discs from mounts along the tips strong enough to tear a grown man in two, or at least pin them fully to a wall in bisection.

"Now, that I have rambled your ears off, General," Sauron chortled and at once Grievous felt the mood of seemingly the whole plot shift. "What brought you to me?"

"Terrorist attacks across several worlds. Rebellions. The uprisings you predicted are gaining steam. Your...wisdom would be appreciated on these matters."

"Of course." Sauron gracefully acquiesced.

"As well, I have a list of agents and spies the Confederacy has in its employ. As requested." Grievous reached behind himself. Unclasping a datapad from his waist at his back.

"They also have some knowledge of the Unknown Regions. Those who have traveled there, have contacts on some of the distant worlds the galaxy has some minor information and contact of and with."

"Good. They will come in handy in the days ahead."

Sauron took the datapad from Grievous. The two continued to pace and speak of the Confederacy and its management. Around them the encroaching forests continued to be cleared from temples and stone grounds. The galaxy turned beyond and the great and grand conspiracy continued unabated.

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L's Note: First post of 2024! Hopefully everyone had a good New Year! I and Lord Kun wish you all well regardless. Needless to say this chapter is a bridge, but still, there are important nuggets in here. Ideas of what is to come, and shall be expanded upon. In fact I'd say, without giving anything away, this is one of the most critical chapters done thus far. But, my lips are otherwise sealed. :3

As usual, please forgive any grammatical errors, or point them out to me and I shall endeavor to fix them ASAP! Also, please leave a review! Lord Kun deeply appreciates people's opinions, insights and thoughts and it always helps motivate him to write more! :D

Here's to a good 2024!

Till next time.

-L

Edit Note: Edited/Updated 01/09/2024