A Brother's Debt

This thread is for the run-on I am doing for my DJK House Summit Task. Myself and Ronovi will be posting the story here. Vai is welcome to post as well. If any others wish to contribute to the story, please email me or catch me on mIRC with your ideas.

Thanks!

Opening post coming soon!

Background information: Kilof Pollot is a prisoner on the planet Kiffex, where he murdered my brother, Kazamir, and sent me on the path that led me to the Dark Brotherhood.

Kiffex was a dusty planet, something Gregor Dorn was not happy about. His appearance was something he took very seriously, and the thin layer of dust covering his dark robes made him feel dirty. Like a peasant.

He brushed those thoughts aside as he approached the squat bunkhouse that served as the command post for the guards that patrolled the prison planet. He was here for a reason, and the quicker he could finish that mission and escape this desolate rock, the better. The doors slid open as he neared the building, and he swept inside the guardhouse with all the regal bearing he was used to growing up in the royal palace on Commenor.

All eyes turned towards Gregor as he stopped inside the door, several hands dropping to blaster grips. Shock registered on several faces, considering that the door Dorn had just entered was supposed to be locked. Before any mistakes could be made, however, Gregor filled the room with a peaceful but commanding presence, and the shocked looks turned to expectant, eager expressions. A shake of the air surrounding Gregor freed him from the dust on his garments, and the rogue Dark Jedi felt more at ease himself. He took the floor.

“I am Gregor Dorn,” he intoned, full of pride and arrogance. “Who is in charge here?”

A captain by the name of Brenil made it to his feet like an arrow, raising a hand. “This is my garrison, my Lord,” he replied, unknowingly adding the honorific title Gregor liked his subjects to use.

“Very well, Captain. You will take me to the man called Kilof Pollot. Today he is a free man.”

“Of course, my Lord! Please, follow me.”

Captain Brenil led the way out the door, and turned left towards the bunkhouse that served as the barracks for several inmates. It was set aside from the others, and had a slightly better disposition. The two men outside the door had the look of guards, though they were certainly also prisoners. Gregor could see that this was the home of a prisoner that was a bit different from the rest. One that held a bit more authority than he should, perhaps. Not surprising in a young man that could use the Force, though he didn’t know it yet.

Gregor told the captain he was no longer needed, and Brenil turned back to the guardhouse. The nudge of the Force on the “guards” guaranteed Dorn entry into the barracks, and he entered much the same way he had entered the guardhouse earlier. In the room were several men, most hunkered around a desk at the far wall, at which sat a man that had the air of control no prisoner should have. Not easily done; Gregor was impressed. A prisoner that seemed not a prisoner. This was certainly the man Gregor wanted as an apprentice.

Dorn had decided long ago to take an apprentice to better distribute the justices he felt only he could deliver upon society, namely the destruction of lesser people who he felt had wronged him. So many through the years had not given him his due, and now he would make them pay. Classmates, teachers, servants at the royal palace, old “friends”. So many. They would all pay him the respect he deserved now, and then die knowing their mistakes. If only he had known his power sooner.

Dorn had been searching for a long time, and finally, seated before him, was the man he had been seeking. A chance had brought him here, to Kiffex and Kiffu. A broken astromech droid had needed replacing, and Kiffu was the closet system that could help him. He had entered orbit around Kiffex to slingshot him around towards Kiffu, and had felt a slight ripple in the Force. Fate would have had Pollot unknowingly using the Force as Gregor was near, of that much the rogue Dark Jedi was sure. He deserved such luck. A Force-aided question and answer session at the spaceport on Kiffex had quickly led Dorn to this settlement, and Kilof Pollot.

The man behind the desk stood as Dorn approached, the other men parting to let Gregor pass then closing behind him in his wake. Indeed, the Force that made all the other peasants bow to him was lost on the man behind the desk, his inert Force-ability dampening Gregor’s own. Dorn could over-power him and make him his servant, but he wanted Pollot to make the right decision on his own.

“Who are you? How dare you act as if you have a right to be here? That is for me to decide,” Kilof Pollot demanded.

“Yes, I could tell it was you. Kilof Pollot, today you are free of this place,” replied Gregor, ignoring the darkening look on his new apprentice’s face.

“Really?” Pollot questioned with a sneer. “And who takes the liberty of telling me what I am and am not?”

“I am Gregor Dorn, your new master.”

Pollot grunted his response. “No man is my master, Mr. Dorn.”

A prisoner saying no man was his master!? Brilliant! Dorn silently applauded the man, and himself for such a fine choice in an apprentice. At a persuasive suggestion from Dorn, every man but Pollot decided now was a good time be elsewhere. Each headed off, outside and to only gods knew where. It mattered not. Looking back to his charge, Dorn could sense Pollot’s resolve weaken. Another show of Dorn's power would be unnecessary.

“Indeed. You will address me as Master, Apprentice Pollot. You have much training ahead of you, if we are to complete the work set before us. I can feel the Force in you, and the hatred that makes you strong. Let us leave this place.” Dorn turned and left the bunkhouse, waiting just outside the door for Pollot to follow. He didn’t have to wait long.

***

Tier-Avis Nami sat in his quarters, pouring over texts, data pads, and anything else that could give him an edge in his upcoming trials for Knighthood. He was sure his master, Tek Cicero Dantes, would have something tough cooked up. Nami was determined to be ready.

Chimes sounded in his room seconds after Nami felt the presence of someone outside his door. A second later, his Quaestor swept into the room, a grim look on her face. Even her artificial eye seemed determined.

“We have news of a new threat, Hunter Nami,” Ronovi began with no prelude. “A rogue Dark Jedi has emerged, taking apprentices, for what, we are not sure. We are sure, however, that he must be stopped.”

The Templar paused, uncharacteristically hesitant to speak. “This concerns you personally, Tier-Avis. We want your help. The rogue has taken Kilof Pollot off of Kiffex.”

Ronovi waited for the Jedi Hunter's reaction as her words sunk in. To any bystander, her suddenly alarmed demeanor would certainly come off as suspicious, and they would be right in doing so. Ronovi had known about Nami's association with Kilof Pollot for quite some time now, having heard it from the Kiffar's master several months before. Therefore, at the news of Pollot's escape from prison, the Quaestor had a developing idea of how to handle the situation, even if it meant doing a bit of acting.

The Epicanthix could sense Nami's shock and denial build up within him, as he set a specific text down slowly, his hands shaking. Slowly, he turned to face his superior, and Ronovi saw his eyes light up like blazing coals in his dark face.

"Kilof Pollot?" he repeated.

"Yes. The one who killed your brother."

"Some Jedi bastard escaped with the man who murdered Kazamir?!" Nami snarled, the rising volume of his voice startling Ronovi. In the next instance, he was on his feet, pacing, shaking his head as if to clear his rage like it were an overwhelming swarm of gnats. "Why?! Why would he do that?!"

"It would seem that Kilof Pollot is very much like us, Hunter Nami," Ronovi calmly replied. "As I said, this Dark Jedi has been scouting out apprentices. And for any candidate to be selected, he must be a Force-sensitive."

"But where did they go? Where did he take Pollot?" demanded Nami.

"Stay calm, Hunter," ordered Ronovi. "We can't do anything if we don't have level heads. Let's not pull a Vader, shall we?"

As Nami took several deep breaths, Ronovi observed his movements and reactions to her words. It was clear that the news had upset him, but at the same time, Ronovi sensed a particularly strong sense of determination and resolve. Vengeance, like whiskey, could be very strong and empowering when imbibed, but hindering if not drunken slowly and minimally. She moved to the Hunter's side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"The Dark Jedi in question goes by the name of Gregor Dorn," she explained. "He does not come from the Brotherhood, but instead from the scattered remains of the Galactic Empire. Rumor says that he was trained by Palpatine himself, but the evidence doesn't hold well. My guess is that he mostly likely learned from an ancient holocron, and now works independently under the teachings of some legendary Sith. And in turn, I would hazard a guess that his ego's inflated drastically from his experience with the dark side, however it exactly came about."

"How do you know all of this?" asked Nami weakly.

"Let's just say I have my sources," responded Ronovi. "Namely, your master's reports. I wouldn't even know about this Dorn if it weren't for Tek's encounter with him several years ago. A fairly insignificant event, really...no battle was had and no blood was shed. But according to your master, Dorn leaves a fairly strong impression on anyone."

"I need to communicate with Tek," Nami abruptly said, rising to his feet. "I'll convince him to come with me to find Dorn and Pollot."

"Now, just a minute, Hunter Nami," Ronovi began, but Nami was already moving about his quarters, searching for his robes and his weapons. As he threw the garments over his uniform and tucked his training saber into his belt, his mind was racing, his heart pounding. He bit down on his tongue, hard, to keep from shouting in anger, and in exchange got a low guttural sound from the back of his throat and a mouthful of blood. As he swallowed the iron taste, he felt strong fingers wrap around his wrist.

"I said, not so fast. Who's to say that Tek is prepared at all to take you on this task? You forget, he is no longer a part of Tarentum. His new location within the system of House Revan would prove a hindrance in helping you find this Dark Jedi."

"Then who am I supposed to go with?" growled Nami. "I can't go by myself."

"I know," Ronovi said, before she smiled thinly. "That's why I'm coming with you."

Nami blinked. "What?"

"C'mon, you really think I wouldn't take the opportunity?" asked Ronovi. She smirked before releasing her hold on Nami's arm, letting him collapse into a nearby chair. "Go and rest for the night. We won't leave until tomorrow afternoon. I will arrange for a personal ship to take us to Kiffex, where we will retrace Dorn and Pollot's steps."

"You'll seriously come with me?"

"I'll have Vai play the part of Quaestor when I'm away," Ronovi replied as she moved toward the open doorway. "I'm not worried about Cestus, Nami. I'll gladly take up the challenge. Besides, you'll need some help."

Nami was silent as Ronovi stared at him, waiting for a reply. But it seemed that the situation had finally taken a toll on the Kiffar's psyche, as if he were mentally drained. He could only look at Ronovi as he removed his robes, placed his training saber back where he had placed it. Ronovi strolled up to the table and retrieved the weapon, rolling it around on the palm of her hand.

"You've had this for a while, haven't you?" asked Ronovi. "I'll prepare you with a real saber for the journey. You won't get your revenge with this toy." Then, as she began to leave the room, she added, "Tomorrow afternoon, Hunter Nami. I expect you to be waiting in the Corsair's main bay."

The Quaestor walked down the corridor of the upper decks with a light step and an amused smile on her face. Dorn and Pollot were no danger to Cestus or to anyone; not even a collection of apprentices would help Dorn sow the seeds of any revolution, despite his probable belief that he could overthrow societal norms just with his charm. But he was the target in this game, and Nami was to be a player of such a game. It was about time the Hunter conquered his past demons, just as Ronovi had begun to do since the deaths of her parents and her sister.

Ronovi chuckled as she turned a corner. Even if it were something crucial to the Journeyman in question, it would prove to be a very interesting trip for the more experienced warrior.

Nami could not sleep. The angry fire in his heart kept him tossing and turning in his bunk, visions of the man who killed his brother running free running through his mind’s eye. This only fueled the fire more, which is why Nami now found himself hovering over his computer, scouring for any information he could find on this Gregor Dorn. Which was not much at all.

He could find only a snippet on Dorn, in a file authored by his own master, Tek Cicero Dantes. It merely recounted Tek’s run-in with the rogue Dark Jedi, which was little more than two ships passing in the night. However, any information gleaned from this meeting could only help in his pursuit of Dorn. In reading Tek’s work, Nami could tell that Dorn was arrogant and extremely confident, something that could be exploited.

Nami was in the midst of re-reading the report for the fourth time when suddenly his comm beeped. It was early morning, a strange time to get a message. He grabbed his comm of the desk and clicked the transmitter.

“Yeah, this is Nami,” he said.

“Nami, it’s early, I know, but I knew you’d be awake,” came the voice of Tek Cicero Dantes. “I hear you and Ronovi are going after Gregor Dorn. This is a quest that you must do without me. Let your anger drive you, Apprentice, and seek your revenge. Be wary of Dorn; he is a formidable foe.”

“Master, I will not fail. Pollot is a dead man, and I’ll take Dorn with him.”

“Good, my apprentice. Go now, and take what is yours.”

“Thank you, Master. I shall see you soon.”


***


Nami paced the main bay of the Corsair, the itch to get moving growing stronger by the minute.

After what seemed like ages, the main doors to the bay opened, Ronovi stepping into the room and approaching Nami, her robes billowing out behind her and her mechanical eye glinting.

“I trust you are ready, Hunter Nami? I have prepared a ship that will get us to Kiffex, where I propose we start our hunt. Do you agree?”

“I am ready, and agree,” responded Nami. “Shall I pilot the craft, Quaestor?”

“That is the plan, Nami. Hop to it.”

Nami turned toward the most likely ship for this operation, a Skipray Blastboat sitting near where he was standing and being readied by some mechanics.

“Not that one, Hunter. This one,” Ronovi said as she gestured to a larger, grander ship on the deck.

Nami eyes went wide at the sight of the Lambda-class T-4a shuttle Ronovi had pointed to.

“I pulled some strings, and perhaps stretched the truth, Nami, to provide us the best possible ship for this mission. One never knows what their enemy will counter them with, and I want to be prepared.”

“Good thinking, Ronovi,” Nami commented with a smile.

The Templar let a small smile escape her lips, as well. “You’re going to need this as well, Hunter,” she said, handing over the hilt of a lightsaber to Nami. “It is one of my own designs. Perhaps after this you will design your own.” Ronovi nodded to herself. “Let’s go.”

Nami accepted his first true lightsaber, feeling the heft of the hilt, and followed his Quaestor up the ramp and onto the shuttle, the butterflies in his stomach rising to a feverish pace.


***


Gregor Dorn thought that his young apprentice would be further along than he was, but he was starting to realize that Kilof Pollot was mostly a leader and not a “doer”. That would change, quickly, he would make sure of. Pollot was weak with the sword and the saber, but he was new. Patience, Dorn reminded himself, though patience wasn’t something that Dorn was used to.

The mansion and its grounds that Dorn still occupied in the country outside of Chasin City, though he was no longer part of the Royal Court of Commenor, was empty except for the two men working on swordplay out in the gardens. Dorn was a lover of the Force and the result it could produce, but he also understood the importance on being able to use your hands in a fight. This he planned to instill in his apprentice as well.

“You’re improving, Apprentice,” Dorn said to Pollot as the younger man panted for breath. “No where near where you ought to be, but you’re improving. Let your anger drive you, and let the Force be your weapon as much as the sword you now hold.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you,” replied Pollot, still getting used to being subservient to another man.

“I feel it is time for us to travel out on our first endeavor. You need real world application to your teachings, and I believe I have found the perfect place and person to be your first lesson. I have located a man in Antemula, a former sporting star who once appeared in my court and thought his stardom outshined my regality. Tomorrow he shall learn the folly of his thinking.”

“I am ready, Master.”

“We shall see, Kilof. We shall see.”

The hull of the T-4a was eerily quiet as Nami set the controls to autopilot. Ronovi and he had made the jump to hyperspace just a few minutes ago, and he observed his Quaestor as she silently eyed the coordinates, making sure that they would arrive at the Azurbani system in the Inner Rim smoothly. It would take some time to arrive to Kiffex, and even then, Nami began to wonder where else they would have to go to finally find the man who had killed Kazamir.

He tried to brush off the suddenly emerging memories like it were a pesky insect, but the images of his smiling brother nagged him and attempted to lift him out of his calmed state. The Hunter figured he may as well clear his mind by lifting the silence around him, as he turned to his co-pilot.

"Er...Ronovi. Once we're on Kiffex, what do we do from there?"

Ronovi took a moment to respond, as if Nami were pulling her out of a Force-induced meditation. Her tone was one of slight irritation. "We question any and all people involved in Pollot's escape. Hopefully they can give us something, even if they were probably coaxed into letting Pollot go."

"How can you be sure?"

Ronovi smirked. "You forget, Nami, that Dorn is a Dark Jedi. A mind trick is any Force-sensitive's party trick. All he had to do was convince the guards to let him see Pollot. I wouldn't imagine him doing it any other way."

"And what if the guards don't know anything?" demanded Nami. "What do we do then?"

"Oh, we'll just..." Ronovi cleared her throat and smirked, "...request information from the nearest orbital bay and see if we can track any ships down from their radar records."

"You're kidding. How can we tell which of those tracked ships is going to be Dorn's?"

Ronovi eyed Nami with a sense of incredulity. "I would've thought you knew that we'd have to do a bit of guessing, Hunter. Remember, all the information we have about this man is mostly theory. We're groping in the dark, so we have to take some time figuring everything out."

Nami snorted. He hated the idea of taking precious time to find Dorn. Already his impatience was mounting, and he knew that his Quaestor could sense it. Ronovi gazed at the coordinates once more before smiling.

"Get ready to pull out of hyperspace. We're almost there," said the Quaestor. She paused, then added, "By the way, did you ever work on Kiffex?"

Nami shook his head. "I was a Guardian on Kiffu. Kazamir was on Kiffex."

"I see," Ronovi said. "Well, either way, be prepared for any awkward reunions, all right?"

Nami would have replied if he hadn't needed to focus on the ship's controls. He felt his stomach lurch as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, swerving about the open cosmos as his vision re-focused. He could feel a lump in his throat begin to swell up as he saw the harsh horizon of two planets circling each other. Kiffex was only a few kilometers away.

***

The atmosphere of Anteluma was hot and heavy, one that Dorn thoroughly disliked. However, he had many memories from this place, most of them charming, though some painfully sticking with him, urging him to angrily react. He quietly observed the activities within the headquarters for all the sports leagues; as fighters and racers all of different sizes, shapes, and colors lined up to sign up for tournaments or moved to impress passerby with any kind of skill they had.

Dorn had often been a spectator at the games Anteluma held, and in truth, he had been somewhat of a sports star himself. He had excelled in dueling and fencing, making a name for himself as the "Sharp-Toothed Noble." But now, his new mission drew him away from his past glories, instead focusing him on the target at hand - who he knew would not help hanging around here to boast of his former triumphs.

Gav-zukk Daq, a Weequay who now resided in Commenor due to the tensions of his home planet, was a champion boxer, and a famed bodyguard. He had protected some of the most well-known of nobles, Dorn included, before he completely resigned himself to the fighting ring. The day Daq had decided to quit his bodyguard job was, in fact, the day he had talked down to Dorn in the latter's court, declaring him a coward and a fop in front of his peers. Little did the Weequay know how much his former guarded had to offer, and how wrong he had been in his accusations.

Dorn's finely tailored robes swished about his black boots as he walked beside Pollot, who had resorted to the typical Dark Jedi look. The apprentice now donned a dark cloak, its hood pulled over his battered face and chin dotted with dark stubble. His eyes flickered about the crowded headquarters with the anxiety of a novice; expected, but still frustrating for Dorn to deal with. He hoped that this experience would only harden the former prisoner and make him stronger.

Gregor's thoughts were disrupted by a loud but familiar voice, as a large Weequay stumbled into the Dark Jedi's line of vision. He smiled warmly as the Weequay, obviously intoxicated, began to blurt out his usual self praises as he teetered over greener fighters. His wrinkled face shone with sweat, as if he had come from an alcohol-induced brawl, and his hiccuping laughs reverberated in the room that the two visitors had walked into.

Dorn gave a curt nod to Pollot, who seemed to take the hint, as the two approached the Weequay. How easy it was to find Daq, Dorn thought, smiling, and thank goodness that he was as stupid as ever.

***

The T-4a touched down softly on the brown surface of Kiffex, the dust kicking up as the engines shuddered and shut off with a faint whining sound. As he departed the vessel, Nami could already see the bunkhouse from a distance. At once his heart began to pound, and he moved his hand to his side to remind himself that his new saber was still there. He watched as Ronovi stepped down from the Lambda-class ship, the edges of her black coat already growing gray with the accumulating dirt particles. Nami could sense her relief at not sparking attention from anyone who could be possibly patrolling the area.

"Remember to stay by me," Ronovi ordered Nami. "My mind tricks are still not stellar, but as long as we can intimidate the guards, we'll be fine. I don't see any of them taking a shot without fearing that we'll cut them open like amphibians."

"And what if I see someone I know? asked Nami. "Someone from the past? What if they recognize me?"

"Simple," Ronovi replied, as she began to walk across the earthy ridge before them. "You don't know them. You never have."

As she disappeared into a cloud of dust, Nami picked up his pace in order to catch up with his superior. The Kiffex jail waited for them, with perhaps answers to the many questions that had bothered the Kiffar for too long.

Pollot followed his master toward the drunken sports star, not really hearing the exchange of “pleasantries” between Dorn and Daq. He had rock-solid resolve to complete this mission, but even as an ex-prisoner and murderer he found such a bold act in such a public place a bit overwhelming, and it was eroding his focus. Feeling the heft of the dagger still where he had placed it as his belt early that morning, he forced his focus to sharpen back onto Dorn and his prey.

“….look well, Weequay. Still fighting?” Kilof heard Gregor finish. The words sounded true and well-meaning, but Pollot’s fledgling Jedi senses could detect the dark and dangerous sense of his master.

“Fightin’? Fightin’!? I gotsh more money than you, I betcha. Why would I need to fight shtill?” Daq responded, slurring heavily from the drink.

“Indeed, my dear Weequay. Indeed,” responded Dorn.

Sliding past Daq and towards his back, Pollot saw the expression on the boxer’s face squint to confused, making him look very stupid. Pollot realized he was actually looking forward to ending this creature’s life, even after only a couple of minutes of contact.

A flash of urgency flashed in Pollot’s head, surely a push from his master, as he stealthily slid his dagger from its sheath. Careful to keep the poisoned tip from touching his skin, he switched his grip on the dagger to hide the blade along his forearm. He circled behind Daq, and as he rounded his back and headed once again towards the Weequay’s front, Pollot’s hand darted out, twice in quick succession, plunging the dagger into Daq’s ribs, delivering a fatal dose of poison. Kilof continued ahead to make a half-turn to stop near the right elbow of his master. From under his hood, Pollot could see the drowsy expression change to pain flooding the face of the doomed alien.

The pain reached the former boxer’s brain, and he opened his mouth in a bellow of rage and agony, but no sound emerged. A new trick in Pollot’s Force arsenal saw to that.

Pollot felt Dorn bend the air and wrap the Weequay up in invisible bonds as his master stepped up to speak privately with the dying man. With Force aided hearing, Pollot picked up the last bits of what Dorn said, basically gloating that he had gotten the final laugh. Sparing a last glance at Daq, he turned to follow Dorn as he flowed past him towards the exit, cloak billowing.

“Don’t ever listen on things you aren’t meant to hear, ever again, apprentice. You’ve been warned,” said Dorn coldly.

“Yes, Master,” replied Pollot, head down, as he let Dorn lead him away towards home.

***

Nami followed Ronovi towards the guardhouse command center, feelings stirring violently inside him. He had never been to Kiffex, but he knew he was walking in his brother’s footsteps. He could feel his brother in the sand, the rock, the hot air. He knew his anger was a good thing, fueling him for the task at hand. He also remembered at the last moment to hide his Kiffar Guardian insignia under his cloak.

Getting the door to the command center was no problem for Ronovi, and she stepped into the room with the air of command she always carried, Nami following at her heels. The guards sitting around the table and at the computer terminals turned to look at the newcomers. The sense in the room changed noticeably to Nami, and the guards took a defensive posture as the man most certainly in charge rose to his feet and addressed them.

“And who might you be? This facility is off-limits. State your business,” growled the guard.

“Who we are is not important, Captain,” Nami took the lead, remembering the captain’s face and name from the sparse reports he could find on this garrison. The man’s name was Brenil. “What is important is any information you have on a certain missing convict, or I should say, escapee.”

“No one escapes from Kiffex, young man. I resent the accusations that…”

“Don’t make yourself any more of a fool, Captain, then you already have,” Ronovi interrupted. “You won’t need that,” she continued as Captain Brenil reached for his blaster, his hand freezing in mid-motion, his eyes turning toward her with fear and doubt clouding them.

“No one has escaped from my garrison in the….”

“No! Someone has, man!” Nami interrupted this time. “Think, and no harm will come to anyone.” Reaching with the Force, Nami gently pushed on the man’s mind, willing him to remember something, or just stop lying if he did know. Nami suspected that Dorn had taken care to make sure that none of these men remembered him being here.

A glare from Ronovi at a guard that had been slowly moving his way toward a console that most likely carried a distress beacon activator stopped him in his tracks as Captain Brenil slowly began to speak.

“Wait, yes. Yes, I remember something now. A man, like you”, this elicited a glare form Nami, “was here not long ago. He wanted to see a prisoner, a prisoner named…”

“Kilof Pollot,” Nami finished.

Captain Brenil’s eyes open wide in shock and dismay. “My Creator, what have I done? I released a murderer,” the captain moaned. He obviously had not been in on the plot, Nami thought. He also understood the pain he must be going through, knowing all too well the sense of duty inherent in his Kiffar brethren.

“Worry, not, Captain. You stood no chance against the mind of a Dark Jedi,” Ronovi comforted.

Nami could see this did not matter to Captain Brenil. “Brother,” Nami said in the traditional Kiffar way, “this is your chance to redeem the past. Tell us where they were headed, and we will avenge you.” This man had been a colleague of Kazamir, and perhaps partly responsible for his death, but he could tell he was a decent man. Nami would lay no harm upon him.

“I don’t remember, or can’t,” said Brenil. A look around the room confirmed that none of his men seemed to, either. “I was dismissed before we actually got to Pollot, I do know,” Brenil conceded with a twist of his mouth at the memory. “I do think I remember his ship, though,” he continued, eyes brightening and growing determined. “A pompous flashy thing, like royalty would have,” Brenil stopped short, probably wondering if either of them were royalty.

“Could you identify it?” Ronovi asked.

“Possibly, if I had a visual detail of its class. I did not recognize it off-hand.”

“OK, then, Captain. You will follow us to our ship. Leave your men in charge here until you return." Brenil nodded, turning to his Sergeant and issuing quick orders before following Nami and Ronovi outside and towards their ship.

***

Captain Brenil followed behind the woman next to his brother Kiffar, feeling an odd sense of recognition about the man. He certainly looked familiar, but he could not place him. The tattoos…

“Have we met before, Brother? You look very familiar. What clan are you from?” queried Brenil.

The Kiffar looked up at him, alert in his eyes. “We have not met, Brenil. I would know you if we had.” Nami said.

“I am from Clan Yuffar,” Nami continued, lying.

“Yuffar. Well, maybe my mind is just playing tricks,” Brenil finished. The man was lying, Brenil knew. He had a childhood friend from Clan Yuffar, and this man did not bear the same tattoos.

He followed the pair up into their T-4a shuttle and into the cockpit.

“This computer had holographic displays of most known spacecraft in the galaxy. I’ll run through some and see if you can identify the ship Dorn was flying,” the woman commanded.

As holograms of ships flashed through his vision, one finally caught his eye. “There!” he exclaimed. “That was his ship!”

The display had stopped on a Marketta-class shuttle.

“Certainly is flashy,” Nami said. “I’m sure Dorn has an outfitted one, with better hyperdrive and probably some weapon modifications.”

“I will contact Kiffex control and have them run a list of all Marketta shuttles coming and going to Kiffex in the last…” Brenil paused, looking for help.

“Two weeks,” Ronovi added.

“Two weeks,” Brenil repeated. “Let’s head back to the command center. I’m sure they can tell us at control what their hyperdrive vector was.”

“Excellent,” his fellow Kiffar said as they walked back towards the guardhouse, and Brenil had it. The tattoos, his face. Clan Nami. The clan of the infamous Kazamir Nami. The man walking beside him must be his equally infamous brother. This could end badly, Brenil thought. For all of them.

The thoughts and emotions raging through Pollot's brain were overwhelming as the sports league headquarters faded to a mere speck on the blurry horizon. The first and foremost question he had was how they had been able to escape the vicinity without any enforcement stopping them. He had half-expected a confrontation, some sort of fight before he and his master had to break away from the chaos. However, the way the Weequay had fallen was enshrouded in silence, as if hidden even from those Daq had been bragging to.

He knew Dorn could sense his confusion, and subsequently he could sense the frustration triggered by it.

"You still understand so little about my craft," the noble said, the dark hues of his cloak and robes glossy in the heavy sunlight and giving him an awkward aura of grandeur. "My power is not solely focused on swordplay, my apprentice. It is the very fabrics of existence that I am able to bend."

"You were able to submit the crowd to indifference?" demanded Pollot.

Dorn snorted. "Hardly. It only takes a slight sense of disorientation. A faltering in reaction. You'll understand this once you can reach my level...if you can, that is."

Pollot blinked; another warning, no matter how subtle Dorn attempted to make it. The ex-prisoner quickened his pace beside his master, looking toward Chasin City's horizon, as well as Dorn's Marketta-class shuttle. Pollot almost mentally taunted the flashiness of the vehicle, its bright red paint job and steel decorations perhaps serving as a hindrance for the ship's true capacity of velocity. But he knew even thinking about it could be a punishment. For even as he felt stronger especially after his kill - and the adrenaline rush he subsequently felt from it - he felt weaker than ever before under the watchful eye of his teacher.

***

Ronovi and Nami followed Brenil back into the guardhouse to experience the same tension they had faced from their first entrance; however, it was stifled sooner than before merely by how the guards watched Brenil move. Ronovi could sense this as well; Brenil seemed to be much more comfortable around the two Dark Jedi, almost familiar with them. It was a dangerous sensation, and an intriguing one, as if the captain knew something that neither the Templar nor the Hunter had bothered to divulge.

"Contact Kiffex Control, now," barked Brenil to a guard, who scurried over to a console while attempting to avoid Ronovi's glance. She listened to the sound of the laser link being connected, before a small, tinny voice emerged from the console.

"Kiffex Control reporting."

The guard stammered, not knowing what to say, before Brenil assumed control of the conversation. "Kiffex Control, this is Captain Brenil. I'm requesting a scanning of every Marketta-class shuttle that has entered Kiffex atmosphere in the past two weeks."

"Understood," replied the voice, before a muffled static emerged, signaling that they were working on the project at hand. Nami watched cautiously, feeling slightly miffed by the way Brenil continued to look at him.

In the next moment, the holographic images began to appear on the console's screen, distributing solely one blueprint image of a Marketta-class shuttle. Nami furrowed his brow at the idea of only one of these vehicles approaching Kiffex, but then again, it was not the only shuttle out there that people used.

"One result, sir. Is this satisfactory?" asked the voice.

"Yes. Can you tell me what the pilot's hyperdrive vector was at departure?" asked Brenil.

There was more static, then: "Affirmative. Hyperdrive vector displays Commenor system, Colonies region."

"Commenor," Ronovi repeated, a small smirk appearing on her slightly scarred jawline. She turned to Nami. "Well, we got lucky there."

"Are you satisfied, then?" Brenil demanded, and Nami bristled at the man's assertiveness. The captain was in no place to get sassy with the two, and that was when he started to get suspicious.

However, Ronovi seemed to receive this information casually. "Yes, very satisfied. Well, that wlll be all, then," she said, turning on her heel. "Thank you kindly for your...cooperation."

With that, she began to head toward the door, the guards noticeably recoiling at each step. Nami paused for a moment before trailing after her, but it was then that both heard the whispering as Brenil turned to the guard who was still huddled at the console. Immediately Nami realized that the transmission between Kiffex Control had not been severed yet.

"Kazamir's brother? You're kidding," whispered the guard.

"Keep in contact with Control," ordered Brenil.

No sooner had those two sentences escaped the men's lips that Nami and Ronovi stopped dead in their tracks, the scrape of their boots being the only sound as the guards froze in their resumed activities. They both turned slowly, determinedly, looking head on at the captain who was now going white at the possible consequences of his words.

"Is there something you'd like to share with us, Captain?" Ronovi asked thinly, her hand moving silently to her belt. She heard the click of blasters in their holsters as she moved, but she was not fazed.

Brenil stood frozen, his mouth half open, not wanting to speak for fear of death. But the guard, foolish as he was, spoke instead, and all the color drained from each man's face.

"We were just...making an observation."

"About my colleague here, I assume," Ronovi uttered, her voice strained in an unnatural drawling tone. She took two steps toward Brenil. "Anything you'd like to discuss?"

"I..." the guard started, but he was cut off by Ronovi's sweeping arm, and he was propelled from his chair and landed sprawled out on the floor.

"I was asking your captain. Hold your tongue."

It was clear that the tension was getting thicker, and Nami wondered why Ronovi was interrogating so much. However, the words they had heard were obvious enough, and both had an idea of the captain's plans. Ronovi extended a hand, and Nami could feel the Force persuasion working into each fiber of the captain's mind. He would talk.

Immediately Brenil's tongue was loosened. "We couldn't help but notice who you were working with...you see, he's someone of interest to us."

"Wait," a guard who hadn't spoken yet uttered. "The captain's right. You're from Clan Nami, aren't you?"

"Yes," Brenil replied, and Ronovi's eyes blazed at his sudden audacity. "A former Guardian, to be exact."

The unison of blasters being cocked sparked rage in Nami's heart as he cursed his ill luck. Brenil had seen right through his lies, and now the two Tarenti's casual exit would be disrupted. He felt his fingers brush against the cold hilt of his saber...his real lightsaber. And he knew that Ronovi had her hand in the same offensive position.

Despite his subordinates' stances, Brenil had not moved to raise his blaster, instead standing with his arms at his sides, a militant stance. He seemed to have given up hope of being quiet. Nami spoke, rather than Ronovi, his voice hoarse and rough in his ears.

"What is it that you intend to do with us, Captain Brenil?" he asked, the formality in his voice tinged with irritation.

"Since your removal from the Kiffu Guardians, we have heard of your...ventures," Brenil said. "We feel as guards of Kiffex, we have no choice but to deal with your notoriety accordingly."

"You forget, I am no longer affiliated with your dealings," Nami snarled. "What makes you think, then, that I am subject to your laws?"

"Simple. You're here, aren't you?" Brenil asked calmly, but that was stilted by Ronovi's threatening tone.

"You really are foolish. You really think calling Kiffex Control could stop us from leaving this planet?" demanded the Templar.

"Perhaps, but you've already made that plan null and void," Brenil said. Nami took a step forward, but Ronovi blocked him with her left arm. "You're still here, so that means we can arrest you without much hassle."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ronovi muttered. But Brenil was already coming toward them, his guards flanking him. Nami knew that Brenil had not wished for this to happen; he could sense the captain's fear under his confident facade. He had not desired a confrontation, merely a stealthy way of stopping them. But now, even if Brenil backed down, the rage within his former allies would be enough to prove a hindrance.

To Nami's surprise, Ronovi lowered her arm, letting an open air settle between the Hunter and Brenil and stepping to the side. Nami could feel the captain's breath on his face, hyperventilation at its finest. He smiled thinly, ignoring the glint of the firearms around him.

"So you expect me to come quietly...I presume for 'hate crimes,'" he sneered.

Brenil maintained his solemn visage. "I merely follow the law of the land. Not something you can accurately say, can you...'Brother' Tier-Avis?"

At that moment, the tension was broken apart as quickly as it had settled. For before Nami could react, he saw the flash of amber spring out of non-existence in his peripheral vision. He felt his body crumple as he was shoved to the side, and in the next instant, the severed head of Captain Brenil pirouetted on its former foundation in a sick ballet before making its final bow on the floor. Nami raised his head in shock at the sight of Ronovi, her lightsaber blazing, the glimmer of her trophy's hilt in her right hand. It was then that he noticed Brenil's crumped corpse, his hand turned to stone against the handle of his blaster - he had meant to shoot the Hunter down.

At once a barrage of blaster bolts lit up the room, some already missing their target even before Ronovi employed her bare-bone Force strategy. With a simple gesture, she sent several of the beams in different directions, while others she could barely dodge, some singing the fabric of her coat. In the midst of the chaos, all Nami could do was regain his coordination, the hilt of his new saber slippery in his grip as he activated it and let the light of its blade guide him.

***

The sight of the outside Chasin City country comforted Pollot, but not for long. He was seated at a table in his master's dining hall, the latter's eyes focused on his own. The two stared in silence for some time, the bloody blade of Pollot's dagger glistening from its resting spot on the table.

Then, to Pollot's relief, Dorn slowly nodded.

"You've been able to carry out a task well enough without backtalk; that's already a step. I congratulate you," he said.

Pollot grinned, a bit too confidently. "The pleasure's all mine." Then he fell silent at Dorn's scornful look.

"Don't get cocky with me, my naive apprentice. You may have been able to make the kill, but you have not been under the threat of death for some time. Now, that would bring me to my next assignment for you. Follow me."

Pollot first thought about hesitating, but before he could even ponder it, he was on his feet, trailing after Dorn as they traveled the vast corridors of his mansion. The many portraits and the brazen architecture of the place loomed heavily over the two, the walls embroidered with golden threads as if to mock the humble apprentice's appearance. Pollot pulled the hood of his cloak back over his eyes - he still was wearing the thing even after his job was done - and stopped as Dorn paused at a small door.

"You have been able to understand and carry out assassination quite well, as I think you're already familiar with," Dorn was saying as he fiddled with a large key; the noble did not seem determined to overuse his Force skills. "That is the first step: offense. But defense is the next step."

Pollot's eyes widened as Dorn unlocked the door with a loud click, exposing a simple room behind it. However, Pollot was more startled by the contraptions scattered about the chamber, blades and spikes gleaming from the dark shadows. He looked at Dorn and saw a strange glint in his master's eyes, the bright blue almost turning white in his skull. For the first time ever, he felt afraid of his master.

"Your next assignment, my apprentice...is pain."

Nami felt the Force strong in him as he let it flow through and from his hands as he deftly deflected bolts from the blasters lighting up the room around him. He was backing away so he could see all the attacking guards as he saw Ronovi extend a hand towards the two closest guards. One of the guards toppled over backward, the other stumbled a bit and stopped firing as a blaster bolt skimmed across the Equite’s thigh, leaving a black smoking scar in her clothes.

Unaffected, Ronovi leapt over a computer console and, while knocking away shots fired, carved a path in the air with her lightsaber and through the two guards behind it. That left four more to deal with. Ronovi turned to engage a guard that was charging her as Nami noticed the guard who had stumbled earlier regain his feet and raise his blaster to track his Quaestor. Nami charged across the small room, swinging his saber and cutting the blaster in two. A shocked look crossed the guards face as Nami spun his saber up and brought it down across his chest. A quick look at the downed guard confirmed he was out of the fight, and he turned to help Ronovi.

To find the other two guards dead at her feet.

She spun on her heel, eyes, real and mechanical, boring into Nami’s skull.

“We must leave, and fast. Reinforcements are surely on their way,” she said. She peered at the guard, unconscious on the floor. “Leave him; they already know who we are and maybe even why we were here. Let them hear the story of our prowess first hand, and perhaps pursuit will be discouraged.”

Nami ducked out the door, followed closely by Ronovi. No one was there to see them, and they turned to race back towards their ship, and escape, the dust trail from their flight the only thing chasing them.

***

Kilof Pollot lay in his bed, another sleepless night at the hands of Dorn’s torture machines. He had visited the dreaded room twice more since that first night, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Luckily, Dorn was allowing him to use the Force to ease his pains. He couldn’t let his pet be hampered by aches and pains, he had said. Ha.

Pollot lifted himself out of bed, a trickle of the Force here and there relieving some of the pain. He did it slowly, and small, hoping Dorn would not sense him using the Force and thus know he was awake. He needed some more time alone. Somehow, though, Dorn always knew what he was doing.

After he dressed, Pollot left his suite and walked down the hall, down the expansive flight of stairs, and into the great hall. He pushed his senses out, searching for Dorn as he was taught. Strangely, Pollot did not sense anyone else in the house or in the immediate area of the house. A smile spreading on his face, he settled into the large chair near the fireplace and closed his eyes, deciding he could use some more rest.

***

The T-4a shot through hyperspace, the mottled sky passing by the cockpit in hues of red and green. They had made a clean getaway, but Nami and Ronovi where still on edge about the encounter on Kiffex.

“Sorry, Ronovi,” Nami broke the silence. “I should have been more convincing to Brenil.”

“Worry not, Hunter,” Ronovi said. “He was an intuitive officer, and the Guardians are sure to miss him. I knew the risks.”

“Still, you were wounded. I could have done better.”

“Flesh wound, barely. In contrast, I would say you handled yourself better than could be expected in your first true lightsaber fight. You should be proud.”

“Thank you, Ronovi. I owe it all to you and Tek.”

“We survived, that is what matters. But we are going to need to be better than that to deal with the likes of Gregor Dorn.”

“Yes.”

“Get some rest; we will arrive at Commenor shortly.”

***

Nami awoke from the jolt of the shuttle coming out of hyperspace, and when he entered the cockpit he found Ronovi already there. He couldn’t tell if she had slept or not.

He also found the blue and green visage of Commenor straight ahead of the shuttle. They had arrived.

“According to government files, Gregor Dorn does not have residences on this planet, nor does he serve in the royal government,” Ronovi began without preamble. “We know he was once a noble in the royal family, so it stands to reason he has been erased from the royal archives for one reason or another. I believe he has been ostracized.”

“I could believe that, sure. He probably was caught using the Dark Side of the Force or something like it, and was banished. But a man like him probably didn’t care about serving the people. I’m sure he left, but I bet he didn’t go far. Someone must know if he had a castle or mansion or something in the country. I think we should start in a major city asking questions about any ideas people might have about his whereabouts.”

“Agreed,” said Ronovi. “Do the honors.”

Nami took control of the shuttle, and less than an hour later he and his Quaestor were walking the streets of Chasin City.

***

Pollot drifted back to the land of the awake, blinking his eyes to clear the blurriness of sleep. Trying to move his hands to rub his eyes, he found them frozen to his sides, the rest of his body likewise immobile. As his vision cleared, he knew why.

Seated on the couch opposite the chair he’d been dozing in sat Dorn, his eyes aflame.

“You disappoint once again, apprentice. I have spent my morning searching Chasin City for our next target. What have you done? Nothing! Do I need to leave you specific instructions? Are you a child? Why have you not worked on your skills?”

“Ma…master,” stammered Pollot. “I did spend some time honing my talents. I must have dozed off as I sat here to rest.”

“You are not a good liar,” responded Dorn. “But your punishment must wait. We must tarry to the city, for our prey will not linger there long, and I intend to finish her today.”

“Her?!” exclaimed Pollot, as Dorn released the hold of his body.

“Yes, her. Revenge knows no gender, apprentice. I trust this will not be an issue for you?”

“No, Master.”

“Good, my apprentice. This one will be a much grander challenge than the last. This is a chance opportunity, perhaps one to soon for you to attempt, but we have no choice. She is here now, and I will have her.”

“Yes, Master,” replied Pollot. “Who is she, and what did she do?”

“What she did is of no consequence, apprentice. I doubt she even remembers, but I will remind her if necessary. You will know her when I speak to her, and then you will strike. I will use her name."

Dorn paused.

"Her name is Ronovi Tavisaen.”

The atmosphere of Chasin City was something Ronovi was familiar with, especially when it involved such a variety of cuisine. The smells of meats, herbs, and alcohol all thrown together soothed her nostrils and warmed her chest; after all, the city was known mostly for its food. It was a culinary haven, its streets mostly filled with people going to market to find the finest ingredients for meals for the day.

Nami seemed just as intrigued about the place, and come to think of it, the smell was rather getting to him. He stopped to breathe in some of the aromatic fumes, and Ronovi stopped, sighed, and looked at him.

"Hungry, I presume?" she asked.

Nami started at this remark but slowly nodded, slightly abashed.

"Don't be embarrassed about it, Nami," Ronovi said, sensing his feelings and smiling. "It's about time we got something to fill us up. We have plenty of places to choose from."

And she was right, for the restaurants were as numerous as the food markets, if not more numerous. It did not take long for Nami and Ronovi to decide on a small but quaint little pub, which seemed to be renowned for its wide selection of seafood. They were led to a booth by a Rodian waiter, and the soft red cushions on the benches relaxed Nami's muscles, still sore from the combat he and his Quaestor had endured on Kiffex. The Rodian waiter grunted, impatient to hear their requests.

"Lambro shark for me," said Nami hastily.

Ronovi grinned. "Icefish," she commanded. "On a bed of Ramorean capanata. And a glass of Corellian whiskey."

"As you wish," the Rodian waiter said gruffly, and he sauntered out of sight. Nami gave Ronovi a look as she shrugged.

"So perhaps he'll end up cutting the cost in half due to some 'persuasion.' How else do you expect me to get around?" she asked as Nami drank the water that had been provided.

"I figured Dark Jedi took advantage of their power, but even for an outing like this?" Nami asked, grinning. He sighed and slid back in his seat, the glass in his hand growing frost around the brim. "Still, it's good to be able to sit down like this and enjoy a meal."

"Don't get too relaxed," warned Ronovi. "You forget, this is where our target is. We can't get too lethargic if we want to find Dorn."

Nami nodded and heard a sudden clearing of a throat behind him. Instinctively his hand went to his side, but he stopped when the ruddy face of a humanoid emerged from the adjacent booth. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair slightly receding from his brow. However, his eyes glistened with an almost awkward sense of curiosity.

"Begging your pardon, sir and miss," he said, the rounded and full accent giving him away as a noble. "But are you perhaps speaking of Gregor Dorn?"

***

"Master?"

The familiar glare from Dorn was beginning to grow on Pollot like a throbbing sore. The latter had been attempting to avoid the crowded streets, detesting having to deal with so many bodies around him. As he had been used to prison for so many years, he was not accustomed to being in a mob, scrounging for delicacies set up in dingy makeshift tents. He awaited an answer from his master and did not get one.

"Master," he pried, but instantly he felt his tongue fuse to the roof of his mouth.

"Do not hassle me, apprentice. I'm thinking."

Pollot was quiet even as his tongue was loosened. The groomed man before him was scanning the hideous populace, his combed hair glistening in the light as his eyes flickered around the vicinity. He was most likely employing his Force senses in order to scout out the next target. This, now what was her name? Ah, yes. Ronovi Tavisaen. Pollot's brow furrowed at the name. It was not a familiar name, but it was an odd one. He wondered what species she had to be.

At the same time, he also wondered just how severe of a confrontation this would become. He had been ordered by his master to carry not one, but two weapons, not including his dagger - a sword and a lightsaber. Pollot felt uncomfortable carrying the presumably empty hilt around, wary of its potential power and danger if he attempted to use it properly. At the same time, he was aware that Dorn was as evenly armed, and far more suited for utilizing his weapons. With a growing disgust, Pollot realized that he would actually have to rely on his master for protection.

He was startled by Dorn's sudden movement, and for the first time, he wished to read his master's mind. His feeble Force senses could barely pick up a whisper of a thought, or a thread of a subconscious worry. In fact, all he could really pick up was two simple words, repeated over and over in Dorn's mind. Three years.

Three years. Three years of what? Or from what? Was Pollot's master thinking of three years ago, or three years from now? Perhaps he was thinking of an age, or a duration of some activity. Pollot attempted to shake the thoughts from his head. He was already amazed that Dorn had not rebuked him for attempting to better understand him. But the noble was so far into his own thoughts that it seemed reasonable that he did not really react. And now, as the two men wove through the streets, their pace growing faster and faster with each step, Pollot only desired to hear the full sentence replaying in Dorn's head.

Three years ago, she thought she put me down. Now the dog has a bite again.

***

The noble in the small restaurant turned out to be cordial enough and did not seem to mind the strange, almost sinister appearances of the two Dark Jedi he was now drinking and eating with. In fact, he seemed almost familiar to that kind of presence. Nami was finishing his plate of Lambro shark as the noble, who gave his name as Abel Joclin, spoke about Dorn with flourishes and the occasional gesticulation.

"Sure I knew Gregor. He was quite the duelist, really. And not many people know this, but he was also good with his fists. He didn't prefer to fight hand-to-hand, mind you...but sometimes the situation called for it."

"How exactly did you know him?" Ronovi asked as casually as she could.

"We were in the royal court together," said Joclin, and he smiled as he drank from his glass. "Well, before Gregor excused himself from it. The members were already thinking of throwing him out, due to his dealings that were growing stranger and stranger. I was called his protege, you know. He taught me everything I knew about fighting. Come to think of it, I was almost as good as he was at using a sword."

"And do you know anything about these 'strange dealings?'" Nami demanded.

Joclin raised an eyebrow at the young Kiffar. "It's funny that you ask that, because I don't really know much myself. Gregor, you see, was very keen on power. He began to explore a lot of regions and take a lot of trips that the court didn't approve of. If anything, the royal family desired to remove him due more to his absences than his activities. Still, the last time I saw him, he had a dark aura to him. It certainly wasn't natural."

Nami smiled thinly at Ronovi, who smirked over her plate of icefish. This was going very well. Whether Abel was being subjected to persuasion or was just very sociable, it was advantageous to the two Tarenti. As the three finished their meals and called for their respective bills, Ronovi let her mechanical eye rest on Joclin's face.

"Tell me, Lord Joclin," she said, and the use of a royal term seemed to please the man. "Do you know if Dorn is still here, on Commenor?"

Joclin blinked, as if it were a rhetorical question. "I haven't communicated with him for quite some time, but I do know that Gregor is still a resident of Chasin City. Keeps himself isolated in a rather large estate in the country."

"How appropriate," Nami muttered, but Joclin didn't seem to hear him.

"Honestly, I'm surprised that he decided to stay here despite his...how can I say it...departure from the workings of the royal family," he continued. "But he did send me a letter once he returned to Commenor. Told me he had spent some time in the Yridia system in order to discover more about his, and I quote...'lingering obsession.'"

There was a soft clatter as Nami looked to see that Ronovi had lowered her whiskey, the sound being from the shaky rattle of the ice in the glass. Her face was a mixture of intrigue and, in Nami's view, anxiety.

"When did Dorn go to the Yridia system?" she asked.

"Three years ago, I believe. In 28 ABY," Joclin said, then chuckled as if he were reminiscing. "My, how time goes fast. What did Gregor say he was doing? Ah, yes, looking for some 'creative outlets.' I'm fairly certain he meant something along the lines of combat or gambling. As I said already, he was quite a brawler."

"And on which planet, exactly, did he do this brawling?" whispered Ronovi, her voice gravelly as she spoke.

There was a tense pause as Joclin naively let his index finger twirl in the hairs of his beard. "Hmmm, well, only a few of those planets are inhabitable. I believe Gregor said in his letter that he had stayed in Yridia IX for about a year or so. Eden City, in particular."

"Your bill, ma'am," came the voice of the Rodian waiter, but Ronovi wasn't listening.

Nami took the bill slowly from the Rodian, watching to see Ronovi react. But there was no big reaction, only a settled look on the Quaestor's face as she pored over the details of Joclin's story. Joclin could only stare awkwardly as well, keeping his glass close to his lips. But what he could not sense was what Nami could sense, as he attempted to channel his Force skills into better comprehending Ronovi's silence.

But all he could sense was the retracing of old steps...and, of course, the ever rising crescendo of caution and vigilance hovering about the table where they sat.

Nami quickened his stride to keep pace with Ronovi, troubled by the look on her face and the sudden determination in her sense. In fact, Ronovi seemed as rattled as Nami had ever seen her, seemingly close to panic.

“Quaestor, what is the trouble? I can tell something is bothering you,” queried Nami.

Ronovi was silent for a time as they walked through the crowds of Chasin City. Nami still did not know where they were headed.

“We need to find a guard station, and see if any trouble has recently arisen in the city, unsolved murders or the like. Those would be Dorn’s handiwork, and would maybe give us an idea of his motives. Then we are making our way out of this city, and are going to find Dorn’s estate,” Ronovi said, as if reading Nami’s mind. “Then we are going to eliminate him.”

“Of course. Do not forget Pollot, though.”

“I am well aware of Dorn’s fledgling Dark Jedi, but he is much less of a threat than his master.” Ronovi paused. “I have a history with Dorn, Nami, and I realize now just how dangerous he really is.”

Nami waited. He could see that Ronovi was preparing to say more.

“Before I was a Dark Jedi, I was part of the seedy underground of Yridia myself,” the Epicanthix said. “I employed myself as a brawler in Eden City, and I was good. In fact, that “job” led me to the Brotherhood. In particular one fight, where I discovered my Force-ability. That fight, Nami, was against Gregor Dorn.”

“It was three years ago,” Ronovi continued, “but I am sure Dorn has not forgotten.”

The pair continued on in silence towards a nearby guard, asking him for directions to his post, and hopefully some more solid information.

***

Dorn beckoned his apprentice to follow. He was hot on the trail of the girl who had shown him up back in Eden City, and he was starting to get excited. Revenge was his passion.

The strain of shielding his and Pollot’s Force-ability from Ronovi and the man with her was starting to get to him, but he knew he could hold it long enough to confront her and her pet.

He followed at a distance, catching sight of the duo as they slipped in and out of pockets in the crowded streets.

Then, all at once, he knew where they were headed. He turned to Pollot and motioned him to follow him down a deserted back alley. This was going to be most excellent.

***

The nearest guard station was several streets over, but the guard knew some shortcuts and was more than willing to explain them to Ronovi and Nami after some gentle persuasion. He also seemed to think there had been a strange murder in the last week or so, but knew nothing more.

Their directions led them down the street they were on, and then they were to cut across to a parallel street through a series of alleys that served as backdoor access to several businesses in the district.

They were walking down the first stretch of the alley when Ronovi spoke up.

“Nami, I want you to stay away from Dorn when we find him. Concentrate on Pollot. I think Dorn will be a little too much for you to handle.”

“Yes, of course, Quaestor,” agreed Nami, as they approached a turn in the alley.

“I am sure he will know me when we meet, and he will want my blood. This will give you the opportunity to concentrate on your target and….”

Ronovi cut off sharply as they rounded the corner. There in the alley, standing next to each other in the dim light, were two robed figures. One had a laugh in his eye and an air of supreme confidence, almost arrogance. Dorn. The other looked angry but a little bit nervous. His apprentice. Kilof Pollot.

Dorn was instantly forgotten.

Nami finally got to look upon the face of his brother’s killer.

***

Gregor Dorn recognized her even with that ridiculous metal thing on her face. His shame had required him to memorize her face three years ago, and no amount of alterations to it could disguise it from him.

“Ronovi Tavisaen, we meet again,” intoned Dorn. “Perhaps you have forgotten me?”

“Of course not, Gregor Dorn, I never forget a cheater,” replied Ronovi with a wicked grin.

“I was hardly the cheater that fight, young lady. Either way, though, you decided to make me look the fool, and that is going to cost you.”

It was Dorn’s turn to grin as he lifted his lightsaber off his belt, holding it up in the en garde position.

As he lowered it, his prey did not move, but only started at him.

“Well?” Dorn asked. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Your whole reason for living shows just how pathetic you really are,” Ronovi said as she retrieved and ignited the amber-yellow blade of her saber.

Dorn felt the grin slide from his face. How dare she? he thought.

“Those words will be your final mistake, girl,” Dorn growled as the red blade of his saber sprung to life.

***

Nami stared at Kilof Pollot as Ronovi and Dorn bantered, a coldness filling his body and his heart at the sight of the garbage that took Kazamir. In this moment, he became a true Dark Jedi, knew what it was to let anger fuel the Force, and knew the emotions roiling inside him would give him the strength to do what he must.

The murderer’s expression never changed as he brought a lightsaber out from under his robe, the green blade coming to life. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the man who is going to kill you, Pollot. You knew my brother.”

“And? What does your brother have to do with us?”

“My brother was a guard on Kiffex, you piece of trash. You took his life, just as I am about to take yours.”

A smile spread on Pollot’s face. “Ah, I see now. The young, foolish guard.” Pollot let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “That was necessary. Like I told him before he died, it was just business.”

“So is this,” Nami said as he pushed the igniter on his new lightsaber and leapt toward the man who had killed his brother, yellow blade meeting red.

***

The dim alleyway lit with shadowy color and the rattle and bang as two pairs of lightsabers crossed in a pair of duels.


Ronovi looked across the crossed sabers and saw the smile on Dorn’s face, and could see he was enjoying this. She quickly wiped the smile of his face by lifting a piece of discarded metal left lying in the alley with the Force and driving it into Dorn’s ribs. He grunted and his defense slipped a little and Ronovi went on the offensive, striking hard and fast as Dorn was barely able to keep up with her blows and was driven slowly across the alley.

***

Nami saw Ronovi driving Dorn towards him and knew he needed to get out of the way. Shoving Pollot back with a Force hand to the chest, Nami threw himself into a reverse somersault, stopped with a thud against the wall of the ally. As he righted himself, Pollot was on him, attacking sloppily but with passion that made up for fundamentals.

Nami brought his saber up to bear in the nick of time, deflecting blows as he looked for an escape, his back to the wall.

***

Dorn was beginning to falter as Ronovi sought to drive home her victory. She raised her saber high above her head to deliver to the kill shot as Dorn fell to a knee. AS she brought the saber down, Dorn came to life, diving to the side and sweeping Ronovi’s legs out from under her with a kick to her shins. Ronovi flopped onto her front, her saber rolling out of her hand as she hit the pavement.

Dorn wasted no time in going to the attack, scrambling to his feet and stabbing his saber at the prone Templar. She rolled towards her saber as Dorn’s attack found nothing but ground. She quickly regained her feet, backing away as she drew her saber to her hand on waves of the Force, reigniting it as Dorn brought down a flurry of blows.

***

Nami saw Ronovi go down, come back up, and go to the defensive as he fought off Pollot’s attack. His extensive saber training was keeping him alive, but he needed to get his back off the wall behind him. He defended high, forcing Pollot to swing low, and when he did Nami gathered the Force and jumped high over Pollot, landing behind him. Nami turned quickly and attacked just as his foe spun on his heel to face him. Now Pollot had the wall to his back.

***

Ronovi was doing all she could to fight off Dorn’s press as they ghosted down the alley, away from the other fighters. She deflected a blow and was able to strike Dorn in the face with the hilt of her saber, drawing first blood. Dorn’s next blow Ronovi caught with her own blade, the momentum of the strike carrying both their hands to the side and smashing them atop a large metal container, causing each combatant to lose their saber. Neither wasted any time switching strategies to one they both knew well. Hand to hand combat.

***

Pollot ducked underneath Nami’s blade as it cut into the wall behind him, the wall slowing Nami’s blade enough for Pollot to dart out in a crouch and race away, turning back towards Nami in the middle of the alley. Nami spun around, seeing Ronovi and Dorn fighting hand to hand behind Pollot as he sped towards his opponent again, lightsaber flashing.

***

Ronovi and Dorn had traded blows several times, both bloodied and battered. They peered at each other coldly.

“Brings back memories,” Dorn laughed.

“Indeed,” replied Ronovi as she attacked, feinting high as she ducked under his defense and came up behind him, wrapping him a hold that would cut off his air and render Dorn unconscious in a matter of seconds.

Unlike three years ago, this time she didn’t see the knife Dorn produced.

Ronovi felt a sharp pain and then warmth as she lost hold of Dorn and staggered back, seeing the knife hilt protruding from her ribs. She looked up to see Dorn approached, swinging his arm down sharply, catching Ronovi on the side of her neck, sending her to the ground.

Dorn stood over her, an evil sparkle in his eye. He smiled as he stepped over her. Ronovi arched her back to look behind her, seeing Dorn bend down to retrieve his lightsaber. With a glance and a satisfied smile towards his apprentice and her house-mate, he started to walk back towards her.

***

Nami felt the satisfaction coming from down the alley, and he knew it wasn’t Ronovi’s emotion. Hazarding a glance behind Pollot, he saw Dorn approaching his downed Quaestor, lightsaber in hand. Nami saw Dorn stop above Ronovi, apparently saying something to her as she raised herself to her knees, and watched as the red blade of his saber came to life.

He knew he had to do something.

Nami put everything he had into his attack on Pollot, laying a heavy barrage of blows that Pollot instantly had trouble defending. One swing glanced off Pollot’s saber and brushed past the murderer’s wrist. Pollot backed away a bit to reorient himself, and Nami let him, wasting no time with the opening he was given.

He raced down the alley on feet pushed with the Force, coming within range as Dorn raised his saber above his head.

***

“You know now, girl, that I always come out the winner,” Dorn smirked as he raised his blade high.

Ronovi took quick inventory of her life as she fumbled for the Force, anything to spare her life. She refused to beg or admit defeat, but as the Force slipped through her tenuous grasp, and she knew it was over.

Until she saw the yellow tip of a lightsaber emerge from Dorn’s chest. Dorn’s eyes grew to saucers, the grin falling from his face. Ronovi felt relief flood her as she saw Dorn’s face register rage instead of pain.

The yellow blade disappeared and Dorn fell to his knees, his own saber clattering uselessly to the ground. Behind him stood Nami, breathing heavily.

Ronovi heaved a sigh as Dorn toppled to the side, but saw….

***

Nami was spent, all his energy used to close the distance and save his Quaestor.

Dorn fell to the side, and Nami felt Ronovi’s sense go from relief to stunned to alarm. He saw her eye go wide, and in the glass of the mechanical one saw a flash of red. He had forgotten Pollot.

Nami quickly flipped his saber so the blade extended down below his grip and jabbed it behind him, hearing a gasp in his left ear. He turned to see Pollot, yellow blade disappearing into his stomach, but Pollot’s own red blade still held high. Pollot brought it down, though not at Nami but at his saber’s hilt, cutting it in two and taking four of Nami’s fingers with it. Nami screamed in pain and backed away over Dorn’s body and past Ronovi, clutching his ruined hand.

Nami’s blade flashed out of existence as the saber hilt was bisected, and the pieces fell to the ground. Pollot charged Nami, lightsaber aimed at his heart. He never got there.

***

Ronovi saw everything in slow motion. She saw Nami lose part of his hand, and saw him back away as Pollot started to charge him. She reached out a hand and grabbed Dorn’s lightsaber, hitting the igniter and raising it into Pollot’s path.

It caught Pollot across the midsection, cutting him in two like he had cut Nami’s saber in two.

***

Nami looked at the destruction around him as Ronovi tended to his wounds. It was done.

“All I can do is stop the bleeding and make it less painful, Nami,” said Ronovi. “You will need medical attention when we get back home.”

“Thank you, Ronovi. You're injured also," Nami replied, concerned.

"I have taken care of my wound also. We can visit the infirmary together when we get back," she said with a smile.

Nami grinned back. "I can’t believe it’s over,” he said.

“Let’s go, Nami,” Ronovi said. “Let’s go home.”

Nami let his Quaestor lead him out of the alley, glancing back once at the body of the man who had taken Kazamir away.

Nami hoped he would be proud.

The silver hue of the T-4a's lights cast a strange glow upon the Dark Jedi as they maneuvered their way back to Yridian space. Despite the condition of Nami's hand, the stumps swathed in thick bandages, he still piloted the ship, setting it to hyperspace with exertion and pain. He slumped back in his chair as the vessel leapt into the white streams of the stars, and he closed his eyes.

"He's responsible for everything I am now, you know."

Nami opened his eyes slowly to see his Quaestor staring back at him, her back straight against her seat. Her hand was on her chest, the blood drying on her hands but her Force healing doing the job of sealing the wound. Sharp breaths fired up her nostrils as she gritted her teeth, straining herself in her minimal Force usage. Nami contemplated for a minute.

"Why didn't you remember you fought Gregor Dorn until that noble mentioned it?"

"Oh, I remembered him once I saw him," grunted Ronovi. "But not the name. Not until Joclin mentioned his trip to Yridia. I never forget a face, but a name...a name is highly insignificant."

"But then..."

"Yes, then the memories came back." A soft, hissing laugh emanated from Ronovi's lips. "Good memories, too. That night, when I unknowingly showed off my potential to a Brotherhood member standing in the crowd, watching me...I never forget the details."

Slowly standing up, Ronovi removed her hand from her ribs and revealed the healed flesh from behind her tattered uniform. She had desired so much to taunt Dorn, to jab at him and let him know that he was responsible for her strength, for the saber she held in her hand. But the drama of the fight had torn her words away. Nami could sense that. He focused his eyes back on the portal as Ronovi spoke.

"You've had your revenge. Was it good enough?"

Nami couldn't reply to that for a while. The thoughts of telling his master the story pervaded his mind, the ideas of glory and pride from the event fading, dissipating like stardust. He traced his intact fingers across the tattoos that embroidered his face, imagining the grin from his brother. Kazamir. Lost to the stars.

Ronovi probed the Hunter. "How do you feel?"

The Kiffar watched the cosmos zip by him. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

"Empty."

The two were silent as the T-4a dropped out of hyperspace, the silhouette of Koros awaited them. Nothing but silence.

***END***