Broken
Anshar
19-06-2009 22:38:41
This thread will be used to post the official story to "Broken," the clan-wide story arc that will dominate most of our competitions for the forseeable future (read clan e-mails for more details). As noted, this story will be very flexible, and how you and your clanmates take things stand a very good chance of influencing the story, and many final outcomes of it.
I hope you enjoy, and will work with me and the rest of the clan leadership to make this successful. I have locked this topic so it does not become a discussion thread. If such a thread becomes necessary, I will be more than happy to create one.
Anshar
19-06-2009 22:41:11
Chapter 1
Ronovi Tavisaen, Quaestor of House Cestus, could not help feel but slightly nervous as she and her Aedile, Vai Azexel, waited for the arrival of Anshar, the Consul of Clan Tarentum. It wasn’t Anshar himself that made her nervous; it was the fact that he was even visiting the House. Such visits were uncommon, and they had been nonexistent since the end of the operations on Antei. Vai must have been having the same thoughts as he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
“Something bothers me about this,” said Vai. “I mean, he didn’t even want us meeting him in the hangar.”
“From what Dranik has said, Anshar has never been one for pageantry,” said Ronovi. “Still, I can’t help but agree with you.” Abruptly, the door chimed, and Ronovi immediately opened it, her senses having alerted her to Anshar’s presence since his arrival. The Consul entered the room.
“Welcome to Cestus,” said Ronovi. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I have something I need you and your house to take care of,” replied Anshar.
“And, while here, I wanted to check and make certain some of the old problems were not reoccurring.” Ronovi’s mind raced, trying to think of what problems he might be referring to. The only thing she could think of would be the undead that had once inhabited the bowels of the old Cestus Complex. While no one was entirely positive if any of the creatures remained, no one had seen or heard anything in quite some time. They should have been completely removed, and to Ronovi’s knowledge they had been. And yet, Anshar seemed concerned about it.
“What will you have us do?” asked Vai, filling in the silence.
“I need the house to thoroughly investigate the city of Eden,” replied Anshar. Ronovi’s organic eye narrowed. Investigate her home? Eden, the capital of Yridia IX, was no paradise, despite its name, and Tarentum tolerated the criminal activity in the city.
“Is there anything in particular you wish us to look into?” asked Ronovi.
“The entire city,” replied Anshar. “Regular citizens, criminals, police, the governor, and so forth. We have spent so much time dealing with external matters that I believe some in the population have forgotten their place.”
“Vai, begin gathering the house members,” ordered Ronovi. “I will work up a plan for the investigation, something that covers all areas of the city. Is there anything else?”
“No, that will be all,” replied Anshar. “I look forward to reviewing your report when all is said and done. Now, I will be going through the rest of the base.” With that, the Consul simply turned and left the room, without a formal goodbye or dismissal of any sort. Ronovi and Vai just looked at each other.
“I heard that last week he sent Dranik to look around the Sword’s Sheath,” murmured Vai. Ronovi did not reply.
* * *
“As you can see from these charts, the Minos Cluster offers an excellent location for us to really expand our business ventures,” said Andryn Umada before the assorted collection of businessmen and women. “While somewhat risky because of its location, the area was untouched by the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, and stable, albeit small, political powers inhabit the region. I’m certain they will work with us, especially since we can reestablish the contacts they need with the rest of the galaxy. Are there any questions?”
“I have one,” said Talara Fol, a Lorrdian businesswoman, and one of the more outspoken participants at this meeting. “My own sources indicate that there are pirates operating in and around the cluster. Can we rely on these political powers to protect our investments? I do not think so. They are more inclined to simply pay these pirates off and let them continue with their work. The small economies of these powers do not begin to compensate for the extra cost.”
“A legitimate concern, but I am not so concerned about these pirates,” replied Andryn. “My own sources tell me they use outdated ships and operate only in certain parts of the Cluster. Besides, once the goods start flowing, our clients will do what is necessary to protect these investments. The cost will be passed on to them.”
“I am still not convinced,” said Talara. “Besides, piracy almost always begets slavery.”
“Perhaps everyone would like to take the evening to think about my proposal? However, I must warn you that one of my clients has already sent their first freighter of mining equipment. I’m sure it will have a good impact, and they will be ahead of you all if you delay too long,” said Andryn, ignoring the slavery comment. All Lorrdian’s hated slavers, and Talara was prone to see them everywhere. Andryn wondered if she was slightly paranoid. The others around the table muttered agreements with Andryn’s idea to think about his proposal for the night. They quietly filed out of the room, with Lestra leaving last, and shooting a glare at Andryn.
* * *
Andryn retired to his own quarters, content with the presentation and certain that they would come around. The only wild card was Talara, but she could be dealt with. For now, Andryn simply wanted to eat. Right on schedule, his servant droid entered the room.
“Master, your meal is prepared,” said the droid stoically. Andryn smiled.
“Thank you,” he said, rising from the bed and making his way past the droid and to his dining room, if one could call it that. Andryn’s meals were very esoteric, and he was quite thankful that droids could be programmed to not object or even to comprehend what constituted real food. Of course, Andryn did not consume his meals for the protein or other physical nutrients. His meals would make an Anzat queasy, if they could even comprehend exactly what he was eating.
Entering the room, Andryn closed and locked the door, having it keyed to his voice print only. Then he turned his attention to the table. As usual, the droid had set it well. Chained to the table itself, her eyes livid with fear, was a young blue skinned Twi’lek, perhaps no more than fourteen standard years old. She bore the physical and mental scars of a bad life. Andryn could sense them.
“Everything will be alright,” said Andryn in a soothing voice, using all his charm, and using the Force to influence the girl’s mind. He did not like it when his meals struggled. The girl seemed to calm down somewhat, even as Andryn approached. It was then that he struck. No one could have heard the scream.
The next morning, the group of business people met again. Andryn could not help but smile as most of them agreed to join in his venture. Only Talara refused to participate, citing the same reasons she had before. The others chided her about losing out, but she refused to budge. Andryn played it off well, but underneath he seethed with anger towards her. He could sense her distrust, and he knew that she would undoubtedly start digging around. Andryn had heard the rumors about her: keen business sense, excellent legitimate contacts, and an all around suspicious person. Her contacts were the only reason Andryn had even invited her into the summit.
Still, he could sense something about her. The Force touched her, even if she did not know it. Perhaps that was why she was quickly moving up in the business world, even though she did not come from a prominent family.
* * *
Talara threw her duffel bag over her shoulder and quickly departed the hotel where she and her fellow business people had been staying. She always travelled light, and her instincts were telling her she needed to leave fast. A quick Maglev train ride took her to the local starport where she immediately went to her ship, the heavily modified YV-330 Revolving Eden.
“As per your orders last night, ma’am, we are ready for departure. Control has granted clearance,” said her droid LE-C3, more easily called Lease.
“Good. Go ahead and take off and set course for the Yridia system,” ordered Talara. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a datapad.
“Yes, ma’am, but if I may ask, why the Yridia system? You have no business operations there.”
“No, but my competition might. Besides, my gracious host let it slip that there was mining equipment already being sent to the Minos Cluster, and the Yridia system, specifically Yridia IX, is the closest to the Itanna belt. It is the logical destination for this freighter.”
“As you wish, Ma’am,” replied Lease, departing for the bridge. As the ship zoomed through the atmosphere and into outer space, Talara pulled out her datapad and began combing for details on Andryn Umada. She had done some research to prepare her for the meeting, but now she wanted to get inside his head. Her entire opposition to the investment, while argued based on business criteria, had been based solely upon the bad vibe she felt from him. It was not even the typical oily, slick con man feel. She did not know what it was, but Umada was something far worse than a con man.
Anshar
23-07-2009 15:58:25
Chapter 2
Anshar sat at his desk in the Consul’s office. It felt foreign to him, but not because he had not sat there before, but rather because of the actual work that lay before him. It did not involve Antei, the Force, or anything else. No, the pile of papers and datadisks all related solely to the governing of the Yridia system, something that he ultimately was responsible with carrying out. Governance was not the strong suit of many Jedi, and Anshar was no exception. He could do it, but he did not like it.
As it was, the clan had spent so much time gearing up for the conflict on Antei that much of the governing had been done on the local level. While most of the local official dutifully followed the guidelines given to them, some had tried to take advantage of Tarentum’s distractions, and line their own pockets. Of them, the worst offender was Eduardo Griffin, the Governor of Yridia IX. He would be the example to the rest of the bureaucrats. Anshar was confident in Ronovi’s ability, along with that of her house, to settle the matter. Already an official decree had been sent to the governing institutions throughout the system, capping tax rates and doing away with many wartime procedures. Budgets were trimmed by royal fiat, whether the locals wanted it or not. Who would have ever thought that a Dark Jedi would ever be so inclined to actually govern, as opposed to simply rule?
“Sir,” buzzed the comm, “We have a problem.” Standing up, and preparing to head to the control center, Anshar pressed a key on his keyboard, sending two announcements to the clan relating to grants and titles. Anshar sighed to himself. Who indeed would govern instead of rule?
* * *
“Lease, why did we drop out of hyperspace this far out?” asked Talara, slightly irritated. Perhaps the droid needed a tune up.
“Orders from the local military officials,” replied the droid. “It seems that there is some sort of problem in the city of Eden, the primary starport. We are not the only vessel that has stopped.” Talara looked out the cockpit window, noting a few freighters floating almost aimlessly. A few Y-wings were providing escort.
“Have you tried to find out what is going on?” asked Talara.
“Port Authority will not tell me,” replied Lease. “And before you ask, sensors are not picking up anything.” Talara bit her lip. She did not expect her ship’s sensors to reveal anything; it was not a military intelligence ship after all. True, she had made some modifications, but nothing on that level, and certainly nothing that would help her now.
“Alright, for now, we’ll wait,” replied Talara. “Notify me when we hear something. And identify those freighters.”
“I have already done so,” replied the droid. “All three vessels are registered from Anaxes. One Type-C freighter and a Marl-class heavy freighter registered to Red Star Shipping, and out of Anaxes. The second Type-C freighter is listed as an independent freighter.”
“That’s Umada’s company,” said Talara, recalling the information she had found on Umada. Founded shortly before the Yuuzhan Vong War, Red Star Shipping had been founded by a man named Geoff Tarkin, though of no relation to the influential Eriadu family. Red Star had made a name for itself as a middleman company of sorts, snapping up several quick contracts to transport goods between other companies.
During the war, Umada had joined the company, quickly becoming Tarkin’s right hand man. With Tarkin’s untimely and stated natural death, Umada had become the Chairman and CEO, despite the long standing service of more than one of the board members. Since then, and due in no small part to the disruptions caused by the war, Umada had transformed Red Star into a regular shipping company, replete with full stops at ports, and carrying every good imaginable. Now he was expanding his business ventures, leaning heavily on smaller companies who might not be able to withstand bad economic times, or the next war.
Beyond that, there was little public information about Umada. His corporate bio listed his homeworld as Anaxes, and that his family was deceased, but that was it. As far as Talara could tell, Umada had no business experience, yet now he was in control of his own company. And she still could not explain that bad feeling she got from him. She stared at the three ships in front of her. Something did not seem right with them, either, starting with the fact that no independent freighter pilot in their right mind would buy a Type-C.
* * *
Andryn had made excellent time since the end of his meeting, and he now sat on the verge of entering the Yridia system. Sitting almost dead in space on his Conqueror class assault ship Rival, Andryn waited patiently, quite content to watch the red and green holograms. He was pleased that all of his ships were still present, and that they had not drawn the attention of any pirates on their way in. However, the presence of Talara Fol’s Revolving Eden irritated him. She was being nosy, and would have to be dealt with, but right now was not the time. So long as she remained blissfully unaware of just what was happening in the ships in front of her, she could remain alive for now.
One of his Type-C freighters had already deployed its high end “ears” capable of picking up the numerous transmissions in any system, even on military channels. The great thing about a crisis was that even normal encryption was often dropped.
Andryn closed his eyes, listening to the cacophony of panic, uncertainty, and fear. He listened to it with the same intensity as a master composer, looking for the one thing that would spur the next step of his plan. He would wait as long as was needed. Hours later, he finally heard what he had hoped for. The crew on his freighters already knew what was to be done; or, more precisely, they would do as Andryn had programmed them to do.
* * *
Anshar stood in the communication room of Castle Tarentum as images of the destruction passed across the display screen. He already knew that the clan members had survived; now all that remained was to do what governments were supposed to do when they were attacked: rebuild and investigate. Rumors, or at least most of them, could be staved off with a simple admission that it had been an attack and not some simple crash.
“Sir, we have just received a report abstract from Eden Air Control,” said the major in charge of the communications room, immediately keying the report to the station closest to Anshar. Anshar read the abstract- the outline of the event, taken quickly while a full report and debriefing was still underway.
“Pilotless freighter?” muttered Anshar, mainly to himself. That meant that someone had to be controlling it. The abstract also noted that it was unlikely, though still slightly possible, that the course had been pre-programmed. There had to have been a remote control nearby. Furthermore, the fact that the freighter had almost landed on top of several members of the clan furthered the idea that someone had been controlling things directly. Perhaps they had been on the planet, or perhaps they had been in another ship. Of course, if the accuracy of the attack was not a fluke, then that implied only one thing: someone had helped them.
“I trust the Marshal has already seen this?” asked Anshar.
“Yes, sir, and he has just issued orders for a thorough search of the system for a controlling vessel,” replied the major.
Anshar
03-08-2009 22:08:08
"Roger that, Command," replied Pyrinan, callsign Rapax Two. "Ok, flight, we've got orders to proceed to the holding station and ensure no one leaves. We have orders to use ion cannons if necessary."
"No missiles?" asked Rapax Seven.
"Nope; orders are to take anyone alive if they try to flee. Prepare for micro-jump. The in system jumps were always a bit on the tough side give the navigational hazards. Still,Tarentum had worked around them, and in system jumps were part of the training. For the experienced pilots of Rapax squadron, such manuevers came second nature. On Rapax Two's mark, the flight of three TIE Defenders entered hyperspace to babysit four vessels sitting in a loose cluster near Yridia IX.
* * *
"Initial investigations indicate a radio control mechanism, and we have managed to decode most of the command chain," the major in the command center toldAnshar . They had not left the room since the incident, and every piece of information that had come in so far led more and more to the inescapable conclusion that this was no accident.Tarentum had deliberately been attacked. Could it have been another clan? Anshar could only surmise, but with a new Grand Master and Deputy Grand Master, it was possible that someone was trying to distract Tarentum in order that their own clan might curry favor.
However, that conclusion made little sense to Anshar. All the other clans knew of Tarentum's reservations about blindly following the Grand Master. Of course, many had whispered or said outright that Anshar had done just that in the retaking of Antei. Tarentum had not received anything of great worth from the struggle; certainly not the gratitude of anyone on the Dark Council. Still, Anshar had made his promise to Sarin, and he had ensured Tarentum's participation to also secure the clan's position in the Brotherhood. Tarentum had sacrificed, and while the clan might not care about Antei or treasures in the Dark Vault, they had secured their continued access to it. Besides, the clan was a staunch defender of the Brotherhood, even if the other clans irritated and angered Tarentum.
"Sir, report from the Marshall," said the major, his voice indicating a sudden change in the situation. The major did not wait for a verbal reply fromAnshar . "A Marl-class heavy freighter and a Type-C freighter have just made a hyperspace jump. Their trajectory puts them further in system. All forces are on stand-by, but there is no sign of them."
"And the flight group?"
* * *
"Damn!" cursed Rapax Twelve, dodging the sudden burst of laser fire from the remaining Type-C freighter. The sensitive listening equipment had immediately given the ship away, but the weapons added to it; Type-C freighters were unarmed ships. On top of that, the Marl and the other Type-C had jumped into hyperspace, leaving theYV-330 and the armed Type-C. Rapax Two swooped in, letting loose a torrent of ion cannon fire. Rapax Seven followed suit and the Type-C quickly fell silent. Obviously, whomever had added the weapons had not upgrade the lacking shields.
"What about the YV?" asked Rapax Twelve.
"Just disable it. We can sort it out later," ordered Rapax Two.
* * *
Talara had felt that something was about to happen, but when the three TIE Defenders showed up, and then the fight broke out, her first instinct was to run. She had no real business here anymore, and something was obviously wrong. Hercuriousity, however, held her tight. Now, as her ship hung motionless in space, save from back-up life support, she cursed her decision.
"Ma'am, all confidential documentation has been destroyed, as per your orders."
"Thank you, Lease," she replied. "Now we wait."
* * *
The Renegade hung silently in space, with droids her only crew. For now, the powerful ship remained unstaffed as Tarentum sought to train a new crew. She was a living testament to the power of the Force, and of the necromancy that Tarentum sought to understand. She was not, as many would have assumed, near the Yridian Repair Yard. Instead, she orbited Yridia II, sitting in almost perfect geosynchronous orbit above Castle Tarentum. Her sole purpose now was as the last line of defense against an invading fleet. The MC80 would sacrifice itself to save the clan, a call made to all members of the clan, their vessels, and anything else. The ship could not, however, change what was about to happen.
It was no secret that Tarentum's home guard units were top rate, and vigilent. However, the sudden appearance of a Marl-class freighter and the Type-C accompanying it took them all by surprise. They had received the warning, but the timing was poor. Dropping out of hyperspace, the Type-C made a beeline from Yridia II, its engines burning the space behind it as it targeted Castle Tarentum. At the same time, the Marl-class freighter released its detachable storage pods, revealing that all of them had been heavily modified. The pods seemed to swarm the ship, as if actually piloted, and they latched onto the vessel. As they settled, the pods sent wave after wave of ionized electrical energy threw the vessel, disabling it and the droid crew. The pods then erupted in flame and began to push the ship away. Even as Tarentum's new E-wing fighters roared into sight, it was too little too late. A few pods were destroyed, but the utter surprise carried the day.
Somehow, even so close to Yridia II, the hijacked MC80 shuddered, flickered, and then disappeared into hyperspace.
* * *
"The suicide freighter was destroyed," Anshar relayed to Oberst through the holocomm. "The Marl is just hanging there now, though a tug is en route to pull it in."
"We captured the remaining two vessels at the holding point," said Oberst. "I trust the interrogations will be most interesting. In the meantime, I am directing the clan's resources to finding the Renegade. If we find it, we will find who attacked us." Anshar could only nod.
Anshar
27-08-2009 21:56:23
Chapter 3
Very few in the clan understood the true extent that its elders practiced dark and foreboding secrets, secrets that they one day wished to unlock. However, everyone in the clan knew that, by default, Sith Bloodfyre had become a link between the clan leadership and the mysterious group of beings known simply as the Keepers. It was from the Keepers that the clan drew their knowledge of necromancy. No loyalty was demanded by the strange beings, but the clan knew the price of its knowledge. The members of Tarentum had their obligations, and choosing not to pay them could have dire consequences. So, the clan went about its business, learning and teaching as it could, but always having a slightly uneasy air about it because the Keepers might, as gamblers the universe over said, cash in.
Anshar was amazed at the resilience of Talara Fol as she stared Oberst directly in the eyes. She showed no fear, and did not seem to feel it. Perhaps she knew more about her connection to the Force than was at first apparent. While not the strongest Force connection ever, the woman had obviously honed her abilities in reading and understanding others, and sensing their moods. She could already tell that Oberst and the clan's military had ruled out any participation on her part. Nevertheless, she was now their prisoner, for she was at the very least connected to these events. A slight disturbance was all that announced Sith Bloodfyre's presence to Anshar.
"Anshar," he said. "We need to talk." Without a word, Anshar watched as Oberst straightened up, and left the small interrogation room, leaving the woman Talara alone. A short few seconds later and he was in the observation room.
"She has offered to help us stop Umada," he said bluntly. "She may be useful to us."
"We'll see," said Anshar. "Care to fill us in, Bloodfyre? It must be important if you contacted Oberst telepathically."
"Masters Shade and Tel'Ratha have requested our presence," he said. "They insist that it is of the utmost urgency, and they assured me it is related to our most recent situation. That is all they had to say fow now." Anshar grimaced. He had a rather uneasy relationship with Shade and Tel'Ratha, but Bloodfyre's sense of urgency gave the Consul little time to consider what might be going on. There was only one way to find out for certain, and that was to go.
* * *
The Mystic's Asylum was a dark place that only those welcome would dare to tread. Rumors existed amongst the members of Tarentum about what secrets and horrid creations lay in that place. Only a handful truly knew. The trip to Yridia IX's barren lands had been fairly short, and the descent into the Asylum was shorter still. However, as had become practice, Anshar blocked all of his Force aided senses. The depths of pain, suffering, and life hanging by threads hung throughout the place, and they were not things Anshar relished feeling. His own desires for studying necromancy seemed to be a far cry from what many in the clan, and certainly the Keepers, practiced. Master Zero was waiting for the trio as they came to a small chamber. He led them in, bringing them before Shade and Tel'Ratha. To Anshar's great surprise, Talitha also sat there with them, though she was not comfortable.
"Welcome, Consul and ProConsul," said Shade. "We are pleased that you have chosen to come to us and hear what we have to say. The time has come for Tarentum to live up to its part of our baragain." Anshar bit his lip. He had had a bad feeling about this visist, and it had come to fruition. He did not need to know what was going to be asked, only that it was being asked.
"We have already heard of the attack on the clan, and the stealing of the possessed ship," said Tel'Ratha. "Have you inspected the captured and crashed vessels closely?"
"We know about the rancors," began Oberst, but Tel'Ratha cut him off.
"That is not what we speak of," he said. "Surely you sensed the death on both of those ships, burned into the hulls. This is how those ships were controlled; not through comm systems or any such devices. There is another force here, one that has the ability to burn souls and control them. It has been many years since we have seen this kind of necromancy, and it is one that we do not wish to see. As Lady Talitha has told you before, there are those that hunt us. This is but one of their techniques, but we have no doubt that they are at work. The dead rancors served only to show you a physical terror; rest assured that those creatures should be the least of your worries."
"Let's cut to the chase," said Anshar. "What is it that you want from the clan?"
"We have a plan to confront and eliminate our enemies, who are now also your enemies. But it requires the clan to retrieve certain things, and to ignore your stolen ship, and the death done to your city. Vengeance will come in time, but you must follow our instructions for now."
"What is this plan? What do we need to get?"
"You must travel to a distant world, burial site of our lost brethren durinig the last purge, and retrieve the object known as the Obsidian Blade," said Shade.
"What is this blade?" asked Anshar. "What use is one blade to us?"
"The blade will strenghten Lady Talitha, to the point where she should regain her full powers. That is all that shall be said for now. Retrieval is more important for now. Our enemies must not get it."
"Fine," said Anshar. "We will find this blade." Bloodfyre and Oberst, both undoubtedly suprised at Anshar's lack of hesitation, remained silent. Whether the Consul trusted the Keeper's word that everything was connected was no longer important. The clan had a new task, one that its members could find challenging enough even without an enemy that they did not know.
Anshar
08-09-2009 16:28:47
Chapter 4
Talara sat quietly in the small cell provided to her. She had no idea if she was on a ship or a platform, but she knew for certain that she had not been taken planet side anywhere. Her ship was still impounded no doubt, and Lease was shut down. Talara refused, however, to be afraid. She had done nothing wrong, other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was a witness to something that a panicked goverment was hell bent on solving. She, of course, already blamed Umada. He had set this whole thing up, and she had simply had the unfortunate timing to be present. A small tingle in the back of her mind gave her a moment's notice before the cell door slid open. A single figure entered. Of average height and with solid blue eyes, the figure still appeared to be worn out and tired.
"So, it is true," he said. "You can touch the Force."
"What are you talking about?" asked Talara. "Are you a Jedi?"
"That is not important," replied the man. "For now, you are only a piece to a very large puzzle. Though my people have investigated and determined that you had nothing to do with the attack on our city, you nevertheless are a witness. And I can tell that you know more than you care to admit."
"Like what?" shot back Talara, anticipating that such a comment would infuriate the man.
"That will be seen," he replied. "However, I know that you have not even contemplated trying to escape, though you seem to have some knowledge of it." Talara bit her lip. She had been in a few holding cells in her time, especially during her time with the Rebellion. How this man knew this was beyond her, which only helped prove that he was a Jedi. Still, he obviously had some sort of connection to Umada, and if that could help her unravel the mystery, she would do whatever it took.
"What do you want from me?" asked Talara.
"For now, simply write anything you know about Umada's resources," replied the man, handing her a datapad. "I'm sure there will come a time when you will be useful for other things."
* * *
The three quaestors of Tarentum's houses filed out of the Proconsul's office. He had just briefed them on a mission that was, he claimed, of the utmost importance to the clan. It was not, however, what they had expected. Rather than trying to retrieve the Renegade, the clan was now going to be hunting down some elusive artifact. Oberst had told them that retrieving the artifact was a step in gaining revenge, and that the enemy could never be allowed to have it.
"After this attack," said Scion, Quaestor of Gladius, "you think Anshar would want to focus on this enemy. Yet he instead wants to go find this artifact. I don't like it, and I don't trust it. This smells of the Keepers."
"There's nothing inherently wrong with that," mused Ronovi. "They have been of use to the clan." Her own memories retreated back to the Renegade and her experiences there. It had been the Keepers that had finally cleansed the ship of the vengeful spirits. It was an experience that Ronovi did not want to repeat, but it had sparked her own interests.
"I agree it is off," said Frosty, the new Quaestor of Tridens. "But, Anshar and Oberst must have a plan. I've been around them long enough."
"It still doesn't change the facts," replied Scion crossly. Of the three, he was the least happy, but everyone had their reservations about this move. Just as many had had doubts about the return to Antei.
* * *
Deep in the bowels of the Asylum, the Keepers, minus Talitha, and their supporters met. Shade, Tel'Ratha, Zero, Nilani, and Khyven all knew the plan at this point, and what was to come. It would be dangerous, and they risked their own lives, but they all believed it to be necessary. Phalanthus would return, and Talitha was the key to that. When he did return, the balance would be restored, and those that hunted them would be gone.
"The Blade's corrupting effect must be contained from the clan members," said Shade. "Only the strongest can wield it, but not without great tribulation. If a member of the clan gains the sword, they may not wish to give it up for the power it offers. Lord Khyven and Lady Nilani, it will be your task to dispatch any clan member that becomes corrupted." The two nodded silently. The ever constant civil war on the planet was caused by the corrupting influence of the blade, though the citizens were none the wiser about it. To them, the temple where the blade rested was cursed, and they avoided it at all costs.
"Something is amiss, however," said Zero. "Anshar and Oberst, and Anshar particularly so, agreed to this change of targets far too readily. Both of these men have proven before that the clan is of the utmost importance, and that includes taking revenge on those that slight and harm the clan."
"Rumors have reached even us that he spends a great deal of time with Lady Talitha," said Shade. "He is walking the path of a Shaman, something new to the clan, and different from Watchers and Death Dealers. I sense, however, that his motivation is not simply about the balance of life and death. Master Zero, what do you know of this man's past?" Zero shrugged.
"Anshar has kept his past a secret, even from his closest friends," replied Zero. "I do not know much about him, and Brotherhood records only reflect his service."
* * *
It was only natural that members of the clan had crammed into each other's ships. Oberst was unwilling to spare any of the clan's dedicated military assets in the event that Umada attacked again. They knew of the Renegade already, but no one knew what else Umada had up his sleeve. The strange necromantic work with the attack freighters worried the clan just as much. So, armed only with the weapons on their ships and what they brought with them, the clan departed for the planet known only as X Prime, to a city known as Shurii. It was said that it was named after an early follower of the Keepers, but no one knew for sure.
Anshar
04-10-2009 23:12:12
Anshar and Oberst stood at the top of the hill, the soldiers of the People's Defense Force, or "Reds," as the clan had taken to calling them, sitting tensely about, waiting for the order to attack. Oberst breathed a sigh of annoyance, but Anshar could hardly blame him. The soldiers that were now allied with the clan were little more than a ragtag militia, made up of men who nothing more than fighting, and boys who knew nothing at all. All in all, it was the type of civil war where only one hundred men might make a strong force. Somehow, the "Reds" had conjured up three hundred. It was said that only one hundred fifty enemies opposed them; however, they had the advantage of the defense.
"Oberst, we're ready," said Ronovi. Ronovi was taking a team into the city, if one could call it that, in the hopes that the clan could reach the temple with the Obsidian Blade in it without fighting. Stereotypes indicated that the Dark Side users of Tarentum would love nothing more than to fight and kill, but common sense reigned amongst them. The clan had no interest or desire in which group ultimately won control of the city or the planet. They only needed what they had come for; why risk their lives for the people of a planet long forgotten?
"Proceed," instructed Oberst.
* * * [note: the following section is copied directly from Ronovi's fiction submission]
The city of Shuril was a unique city. Not so much unique in terms of its architecture or infrastructure, though some of the work was impressive and artistic; no, instead it was unique in its aura. One who attempted to casually move around Shuril would feel his senses amplified by the city’s atmosphere upon the planet known only as X Prime. Perhaps he could even taste the tension, thick and smoky like he was sucking in the air through a long smoking pipe. It was tension on the brink of chaos, organized warfare on the edge of falling into outright anarchy.
Ronovi didn’t know how the city remained intact. Despite the factions’ strife against one another, there was an awkward sense of stability. She knew that necromantic powers were at work on this planet, originating from one main source like a river emerging from a spring. Moving her hand to her side, she unhooked her lightsaber from her belt, drawing the hilt close to her chest in a slight offensive position.
The Cestus Quaestor traveled with several members of her house, all dressed simply and armed with only the most necessary weapons. With the intensifying aura, it was clear that the temple was only a kilometer or so away, and no doubt centered in the core of Shuril. Ronovi imagined it as a majestic but eerie structure, its sharp-tipped black spires piercing the gray skies of X Prime. However, such a building need not look intimidating to be so, and the group moved about the stone paved streets with a sense of unease.
While the rims of the city were strangely peaceful, though its civilians seemed just as armed as the Dark Jedi who moved among them, approaching the core of the city brought the most gruesome of scenery. Threatening sentences were painted in big, red sloppy letters, the trails of blood-like oil staining the rocky patches upon the smaller, more crudely constructed buildings. Everywhere was the smell of the smoke, the taste of ash on Ronovi’s tongue, as civilians who hid their faces under ragged veils of their pasts huddled around fires in the cold air. More and more the Quaestor saw men wearing fragments of uniforms, or clothes roughly sewn together to look like the authentic attire of a faction member. But above all, it was too difficult to say who was on which side. True, both factions seemed to have a different slogan, one claiming chaos as god and another claiming balance as necessary, but there was no way to classify members. There were no flags, no senses of pride. Merely the awkward conglomeration of civilians eager to sink their teeth into the cheeks of their enemies.
Shuril’s main street was jam-packed, a circular movement around the city’s spherical core. Ronovi stepped cautiously, lightly, almost afraid of treading over someone’s toe and getting into a skirmish. She did not wish to cause chaos until the best moment. Her fellow house summit members quietly followed her lead, merging into the blurred faces of the mob, oozing their way through like black shadows leaving their owners’ footsteps. From the corner of her eye, Ronovi could see men armed more liberally, some even presenting two blaster rifle slung over each shoulder in an X formation.
The temple where the Obsidian Blade allegedly was held was dome-shaped, small and almost insignificant. It appeared to be made of a brick-like substance, musty red and gray blending with the mist surrounding it. There were no windows, no towers, not even a staircase to lead to its door. Instead it sat almost nonchalantly, taunting the Tarenti who had come to enter its chambers. But it did more than tease the Templar and Quaestor, also a full-fledged Death Dealer of the clan; it intimidated her. She gripped her lightsaber tightly, moving her other hand to her coat where the black handle of her sapphire blade was hidden away from view.
The group was stopped by a gaggle of men.
They appeared to be some kind of royal guard, though with no one around to protect. Their civilian clothing was fashioned to look somewhat authoritative, the color patterns matching in a mesh of green and blue. They all wore caps, their blasters aimed with the stance of an untrained stormtrooper unit. And yet they seemed intent on knocking off the head of anyone who approached.
Ronovi raised a hand in silence, listening to the clicks of the blasters as the guards cocked them, aiming for her temples. She swept her bangs aside to reveal the glinting blue screen of her eyepatch, always a method of intimidation. The tension was almost enough to choke her.
“I have interest in the temple up ahead. Is it open for visitors?”
While the guards looked confused at the sound of the word “temple,” one of them took a step forward, keeping his blaster rifle raised. He stared at Ronovi.
“This building is property of the People of Shuril’s Army. Do you have official identification?”
“People of Shuril?” repeated Ronovi. “Sir, I’m only a visitor to this place. I have interests in its historical significance.”
The rest of Cestus knew that Ronovi was attempting to employ a mind trick on the guards, and it seemed to be working slowly. There was a strange sense of calm from the men as they lowered their weapons slightly, some of them seeming carefree. The guard who had spoken cocked his head.
“Are you a diplomat?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Ronovi. “Why not.”
In the next moment her hand was on the tip of the guard’s blaster, her fingers pushing the barrel down. It was clear that she was not the only one responsible for this; indeed, the higher-ups of Cestus were assisting in relaying the calm around them. Their Force utilizations combined were enough to practically put the guards in a trance, as they lowered their weapons and parted, opening up the path to the temple.
But the calm was short-lived. In the next moment, a flash of light surrounded the area as the blast of a grenade shook the pavement.
* * *
"What was that?" exclaimed Anshar, though no one near could answer that. At once, the Reds began streaming towards the section of the city with the temple.
"It seems," said Oberst, "that someone has jumped the gun." Anshar followed Oberst's gaze to the hodgepodge grouping of trucks and skiffs streaming towards the city. All together he counted five skiffs loaded with soldiers, two armed speeders similar to Chariot-LAVs, and two dozen wheeled vehicles, four of which were armed with T-21 repeaters on all sides.
"So much for making this easy," commented Anshar.
Anshar
01-11-2009 19:29:05
Oberst simply shook his head. Their erstwhile allies, the "Reds" having walked right into simple traps. Heavy artillery fire from the defenders had led to heavy casualties on the way in, and they had pressed on and allowed the defenders a chance not only to escape, but to bring the temple down on them, joining the ruined cityscape around it. In the end, the battle remained as political as it had ever, with both sides intent on owning the broken remains of the capital city, thinking that it somehow granted them control over the planet.
It had not, however, been a total loss. In fact, the clan succeeded in its own goal. In the ensuing chaos the lower chambers of the temple had been opened, and a few trusted clan members skilled in infiltration had blended in with the local milita teens and had secured the Obsidian Blade. No Force spirits protected it; no booby traps or creatures awaited the team. Simply dank and dark, the temple's lower chambers might give the intruders a mild mold-induced disease at best.
Immediately upon their return to the Antei system, the blade had been whisked away to the Keepers under the care of Khyven and Nilani, trusted assistants of the Keepers, and those that could be trusted to resist the influence of the Blade. Every clan member could sense the blade, and many now desired it. However, none in the clan were foolish enough to oppose Khyven and Nilani; while certainly elders such as Anshar, Bloodfyre, Korras, or Oberst might be able to oppose one of them, fighting both at the same time would be suicide.
And speaking of Anshar, Oberst now turned his attention to the figure standing at the windows, looking out over the valley over which his estate stood. Oberst, like all clan members except Dranik, had never been to Anshar's mansion. It was smaller than all other Tarentae's homes, and rather spartan. It was no where near the lavishness for which others were renowned. However, Oberst could only smile slightly at such conditions. Each and every member of Tarentum was a unique individual, working together only for the glory of the clan however they saw best. There was no attempt to forge a single identity amongst the clan; if anything, the individuality of Tarentum's members was its hallmark.
"I've been asked to return to Antei," said Anshar suddenly, ending the silence. "The Master at Arms requires my assistance more."
"And?" asked Oberst.
"I am going. I have been Consul long enough, and I cannot serve both here and on Antei," replied Anshar. "Besides, bloodshed is coming to the Brotherhood once again; bloodshed between the clans. Perhaps my position will allow me to stop the weakening of our society, or at the very least help save Tarentum."
"And your own personal issue?" asked Oberst, curious not necessarily out of concern, but more out of the progress Anshar's research had yielded.
"It is under control for now," replied the retiring Consul. Anshar turned to Oberst. "I'm afraid my friend that I must leave the clan, and all situations, in your hands. Of course, I will remain available to assist the clan."
Oberst only nodded.
Ronovi
19-11-2009 20:44:23
Chapter 5
His reflection gazed at his shoes. He looked down at the nighttime bustle of the city from high up. Lights zipped in every compass direction. Lights shone at him from other buildings. From above him, behind him, in front of him, below him were the lights. Lights proved the city was alive. A city that was alive was a city waiting to be conquered. A city waiting to be exploited. It was money and power and sex and vice.
Andryn Umada didn’t look up or turn when the intercom chirped to life. He thanked his secretary, ran a hand through his hair smoothing it out. Fixed his tie and his cuffs and sat down at his desk. The slick glass surface was cool to the touch. A hand rested palm down on the reflective surface. The door to his office opened. The sounds of revelry far away wafted in. It was a party he was hosting in his offices. The steady thump of bass and the smell of free food preceded her. And she walked in.
She moved like a jungle cat. All grace and power and sleek and danger. Her clothing was elegant. Spartan. Well made without being ostentatious. The simple gown revealed a dancer’s curves. Not the hard, harsh body of an athlete. It was smooth and soft, with a core of power. Without being asked she took a seat across the desk. The doors slid shut, cutting out the outside noise.
“Your charter,” she slid a datapad across the desk. The slight, shrill scrape of plastic on glass accompanied the action.
Umada didn’t look down as he took the datapad, just tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “And my fee?” he asked evenly, his voice betraying nothing of his emotions. At least that’s what he hoped as apprehension warred with excitement for dominion. Terror crept at the edges waiting to vanquish the victor.
“You will have dominion over that small Kingdom. It is by decree,” she started smoothly, “The Principality and all its movables shall be yours without contest. And you will hold it in fiefdom. Tribute shall be no greater than a tenth of all wealth.” Stormy blue eyes met brown evenly. Offering neither challenge nor contempt.
“And this charter –,” he broke off without continuing.
“Will get you far into the system. No one will challenge you while you possess it. It guarantees safe passage by order of one of their Elders. The quiet one that their brute of a Marshal constantly defers to.”
“Very well. I shall assemble my ships,” Umada rose, his chair pushing away and bumping into the window behind him with a soft clatter.
“No,” she interjected, “You will not. Not yet.”
* * * * *
The hall was empty save for a few witnesses. The dais swept of all other chairs save one. A holographic image was projected in front of it. The man’s image was well dressed, even in the blue-white glow the quality of the clothing stood out.
On the landing three steps from the dais, a large man knelt. “I swear upon my life that I will be faithful and strong for my King. Shall never do him harm. Shall observe my homage to him. Wage war upon his enemies and to send protection and troops at his command. To hold in his name this fief until He commands otherwise or I fall.”
The blond man nodded once, “Then rise Prince and serve me well.” Without waiting or prompting the hologram winked out.
Oberst rose and ascended the dais, before nodding at those assembled. “As I must serve my King and the Brotherhood in my new office, I must vacate the Marshalate.” He met the eyes of all those assembled before continuing, “General Korras and Admiral Welshman have proven themselves capable of commanding troops with me, and so my last act as Marshal is to name them Chiefs of Staff respective of the Army and Navy. They will lead our armies while I execute this office, and I will return to the Marshalate upon vacating this office.” He paused a beat, “Should I still live.”
He waited for approval, accepting the curt nods from Korras and Welshman with an air of simple content. Oberst then gestured to the young Epicanthix standing along the sideline of the assembled, a mere silhouette against the intimidating figures of the Tarentae.
“Step forward, Ronovi Tavisaen.”
Oberst heard the rustling of fabric against fabric as Ronovi approached him, her boots emitting a slight squeak on the stone floor of the hall. Without a word, she seemed to understand the new Consul’s wishes, and the Quaestor of Cestus knelt to the floor, the tails of her dark coat spreading out along the deeply carved marble.
“Ronovi, you are hereby relieved of the position of Quaestor, to assume the helm of Proconsul of Tarentum,” declared Oberst. “From here on, you will reside in the offices of Castle Tarentum to work as my second-in-command. Is there any objection to this selection?”
“No sir,” Ronovi softly replied, and Oberst could sense humility from her tone. A wave of nods came from the gathered honored Tarentae, and with the overly exaggerated protocol out of the way, the Prince could now focus on the more important subject that had sparked a new sense of vigilance within the clan.
“Brothers and sisters of Tarentum, we are all aware of the growing danger that threatens the stability of our fiefdom,” Oberst announced. “Shortly before the ceremony, I was approached by a messenger of the Keepers. The clan summit, along with our esteemed necromancers, have been summoned to their presence for our next assignment. We have also been asked to bring a certain prisoner with us.”
“Which prisoner are you referring to?” asked Welshman, and Ronovi hastily replied.
“Talara Fol. A Lorrdian in employ of Red Star Shipping, which has been affiliated with Andryn Umada. We have reason to believe that she holds the key to the conflicts that have arisen in Yridia.”
“And I believe we will leave it at just that,” Oberst cut in, casting Ronovi a look before she could expose too much information. “Ronovi and I will be traveling to the Ziggurat with Miss Fol. Bloodfyre, you will be expected there as well, as the leader of the Watchers.” Bloodfyre nodded solemnly, his visage fixed in an intimidating stare. “We will alert everyone when we have received the assignment. For now…dismissed.”
Ronovi
04-02-2010 15:04:13
Epilogue, Part One
Following the events of Broken: The Final Chapters
Castle Tarentum
Five Months Before the Rite of Supremacy, 32 ABY
Blackened steel across the vein, red and black meshing in a dim, inky display across the flesh. The blade moved in circular sweeps, in curves, in spirals and in straight lines. It followed the overall design, then the intricate details, until there was nothing but a display of opened veins spurting brown and red in an almost muddy residue.
Oberst was carving the Scimitar tattoo from his arm with a hunting knife.
He was aware that a simple procedure could have removed the mark for him, something that would have left his flesh a bit cauterized, but fine. Nothing that couldn't be fixed by droids in the medical bay. But Oberst was not the kind of warrior - or man, for that matter - to ignore an opportunity to slice out his past dealings, literally. He kept his arm tense as he made the incisions, the knife swiveling in his weathered palm, his wrist rotating as rivulets of blood shot up to meet his still intact skin.
When he was done, his desk was stained red. The blood continued to stream from his gouged arm. He set the knife down on the glass without cleaning it. He moved to a drawer to retrieve a bandage.
"That's going to take some time to heal."
The Consul raised his head to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. It wasn't his Proconsul, or the leaders of Tridens. It wasn't even Bloodfyre. But Oberst still managed to smirk at the man making his presence known once more in the castle.
"I trust that you've gotten yourself comfortable for your visit?" Oberst asked the former Consul, as he wrapped his arm in the gauze that was already beginning to swell with blood.
Anshar nodded curtly. "I've returned to my estate in Messina for the time being. It will be a while before I'm called back to Antei."
"It's because of the upcoming catfight among the clans, isn't it?" Oberst asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Grand Master finds Salas V to be of extreme value. He won't just hand it off to any clan," Anshar replied. "Still, though, I'm guessing in the past few months, that hasn't been your priority."
These days, Anshar wasn't too subtle with his thought process, which was a startling change from his usual demeanor. Oberst knew what was going on in the man's head, especially when it concerned his own well-being. Talitha was dead - the remedy to Anshar's fraying spiritual connection to his body was gone. And that meant that Anshar could not strain himself, or even commit to his full Force potential. It had been a difficult, as well as traumatizing, sacrifice to make.
Oberst tightened the bandage around his arm as the blood began to congeal, fusing the gauze to his wound like a sticky gelatin. He moved away from his desk, his boots scuffing the floor of his office...an office that had once been held by many others, many who had paid due attention to the Keepers. They were gone now. All gone.
"Have you spoken with any of the Tarentae since our last meeting?" he asked Anshar, and the Krath Master shook his head.
"There's no need. We all agree that these moves must be made. The Necromantic Order must not exist any longer in our politics. It's a sacrifice many of us are willing to make...even if we can't amend for what we've lost."
"There wasn't much we could do to stop it."
"Bloodfyre won't easily tear away from necromancy, however," Anshar continued. "But he too knows what our next steps are. We've received the holocrons from Muz. Now we must put them to use. And you know there's much to do in terms of the houses, while they're still cleaning up their dead."
"And Nilani? What do you expect me to do about her?" Oberst demanded.
There was a silence between the two men, and they seemed to agree without the need for words. Nilani was strong, and perhaps threatening, since her escape from the Yridia system. She could surely hold some influence in the farther borders of the galaxy. But even then, she was no necromancer. And even if she was able to take down the honorable Khyven - an ally that would be missed, surely - she could not stand alone against the fury of Tarentum and her brethren.
Anshar and Oberst were broken from their shared thoughts by the shuffling of feet near the doorway. Ronovi's tall silhouette filled up the entrance, the tails of her coat tattered about her ankles. Her organic eye was bloodshot. She seemed unfazed by the gore staining Oberst's desk.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Am I interrupting?"
"No," Anshar said, smiling at the young woman. "In fact, I was just about to be going." He pulled himself away from Oberst's gaze, smiling thinly as he stepped toward the doorway. "I wish you luck on Salas V, Oberst...and on everything else, both of you."
With that, he was gone, the familiar dark aura about him still lingering. In many ways, Anshar still had not changed, even if he limped a bit due to his knee or appeared more frail due to the necromantic influences upon his body. Oberst turned his attention to Ronovi then, who took a place against the wall and examined the fingernails on her right hand. It was clear that she had been drinking again, though she maintained composure somewhat. The Consul smirked.
"We have work to do, you know," he muttered, as Ronovi pulled herself from the wall.
"I know." Ronovi gritted her teeth. "Your arm..."
"It's nothing. What about you?"
Ronovi shrugged and muttered, "Got my Mace tattoo removed at the medical bay. Some Tarenti are still there, getting tattoos removed. Both Death Dealers and Watchers."
"I'm not surprised," Oberst replied, "and in a way, I'm pleased. There is no use in lingering on this. No matter how much we lost from the betrayal."
"Easier for you to say," Ronovi whispered, and Oberst sneered. It was true that he had not lost a family to an order he had followed zealously...then again, he had done away with his family himself. He could sense the anger pulsing from his Proconsul. She would learn.
"The order is done with. Now we have other things to tend to." Oberst moved to the portal that overlooked the dark seas before them. Calm waves before a cliche storm. "Salas V's waiting for us. So are the demands of the Tarenti. And we will manage these little tiffs, one by one."
"You sound like all this is just a janitor job," Ronovi commented, and Oberst grinned in reply. Yes, she would learn, and become fully accustomed to the very dark power she had tried so hard to gain. Losing loved ones was one step. Recognizing that her job was something clean-up-oriented was another. And there was much to mop up, and waste to remove. The Necromantic Order has been one such blister to remove. Now, alongside the Tarenti, there was much more to tidy up, and many pieces to be picked up and repaired.
Oberst raised his arm and stared at the red stain where his tattoo used to be. He did not need to be a Death Dealer to deal death. All he could see now across the waters were the broken shards of what had been, and what could never be again. He would mend this broken clan, so that its reflection cast an eerie light upon the cosmos that welcomed their mad ambition with open arms.
Ronovi
05-02-2010 08:52:09
Epilogue, Part Two
by Sith Bloodfyre
The old was swept away in preparation for the new.
As the Clan turned its back on what had been a vital part of Tarentum for many years, one lingering soul remained bound to what had been, in many ways, his life's defining work. He had delved so deeply into the dark craft that had defined his Clan that, it could be said he had been among the greatest scholars of life, death, and everything in between.
Tarentum was no longer the Clan of Necromancy, the darkest of dark arts. And yet, Sith Bloodfyre was still perhaps one of the greatest living Necromancers in the galaxy.
Master Zero was greater than he, without a doubt. Other orders across the face of the galaxy studied and practiced the dark arts. There would always be death cults, shamans invoking the gods of life and death, and rituals that would invoke the souls of those beyond to aid the living, defeat enemies, or do whatever it was that long-dead ancestors could do for those involved in familial worship.
But for the Force, power was. It always had been, it always would be. Those who focused upon particular arts either had a gift, or they did not. But those who had a particular gift could make a conscious choice to cultivate it, or let it lapse. The Sith Master's mind was consistently plagued with a single thought that had kept him from restful sleep now for many nights. And, in all likelihood, it would keep him in a wakeful state for a long time to come.
Can I just let it all go?
So, in the midst of one such fitful period of uncertainty, the Shaevalian had departed the Castle that the Clan as a whole, and the House of Tridens had called home. He took a shuttle craft and fled, almost instinctively, to somewhere that he had once called home. It was a place that he had often spent restless nights poring over problems, but also seeking out answers, and even treatment for the obstacles that had plagued him early on in his life as a Darksider post-Shaevalis.
The dark obelisk, the haunted structure, the demonized facility that had once housed he and his fellows had called out to him. It had seemingly been cleansed of the memories that had singled it out as perhaps one of the most feared and misunderstood structures utilized by Gladius, or the Clan as a whole. It had held some of the most misunderstood beings of prestige and power within the past. It had held his friends. It had held his tormentors.
It still holds me...
The homecoming had not been with much pomp and circumstance. It had not been filled with announcements or even real acknowledgement, beyond a few glances from some of the research staff that now filled their days with work and discussion. And even after the recent events, some of that work would now be halted and repulsed. But much of it would continue on as if nothing had happened.
"Ahh, vhat haff vee here? A return aff vun aff mein subjecks, no?"
The eyes that were so often hidden from the world narrowed and filled with rage and contempt at those words from many meters down the hall. It was not a happy or joyous occasion, this homecoming. Nor would the many nights that would continue on from this one have pleasant run-ins with this man, the former attending physician of the long-lost Mystics of the Black Arts.
"Steiner..."
* * * * *
All across the Clan, clouds of smoke were coalescing into subjugated beings of various power and ability. Rakghouls were being created at a rate that would have alarmed the Clan had they been Draugr, or even the inferior Aptrgangr. And yet, there was no fear. The new power that traversed the Clan's powerful were being accepted and utilized in a fashion that spoke of mastery within months, if not mere weeks. The old had been nearly swept away. Nearly.
"We've received reports from the Asylum."
The great behemoth standing in contemplation glanced towards the door to the observatory that afforded the Clan a great view beneath the oceans of Yridia II. Standing there was a being of much less stature than he, but one whose dominance was still unquestioned beyond his own. She was his right hand man, even though woman was the more correct term. Within the military, and indeed, within many facets of the Clan, the male gender and pronouns were still widely used.
"Apparently," the woman continued, "Steiner and his research staff have been... ousted from certain areas of the Asylum by Bloodfyre's return. Steiner says they aren't being kept from anything intensely vital to the daily operations, but he did mention that Sith went and took over what used to be the housing and treatment area for the Mystics of the Black Arts.
"I thought the Mystics had been disbanded a long time ago."
Oberst stood in silent thought for a few seconds, looking directly into the eyes of his Proconsul.
"I'll speak with Steiner about it," Oberst finally responded.
"It's an odd place for Sith to go to seek solitude or contemplation, isn't it?" Oberst had turned away from her to look back out into the ocean, but he had not dismissed her.
"In some ways, yes."
* * * * *
The Sith King had demanded the unaffiliated to make a choice, to determine their true allegiance to others beyond their ultimate lord. Many of these were perhaps the greatest the Brotherhood had to offer, a rebirth of what had once been, and what would be hailed as perhaps the greatest convocation of space-faring might in Imperial-held territory.
Tau Squadron had long-served the Grand Master, and had denied any allegiance beyond that to their lord and master, the Sith King, Khyron. And yet, the decree had been made that now, they would either find allegiance, or create one anew. No single House within the Brotherhood could claim their loyalty, nor should they. The warriors of Tau could never hold themselves to any banner beyond that of the Grand Master. It simply did not make sense to have any oath of loyalty that would take away from their service to the Lord of the Brotherhood.
Join, or create.
The option was there, and it was the only choice Kaerner and his band could actually make. Those who followed after them would have an ultimate loyalty to the Iron Throne, but only through the lord who sat upon the throne at the House's inception. This House would forever after follow the man, and though they would snap at the hands who sought to control them, this new House, the legacy of Tau, would forever be loyal to the Brotherhood itself. The Iron Throne would always be able to count upon the oaths of those who would come after.
Tarentum.
The name had meaning. It had power. It had a birthright instilled into it by those who had created it. Magnus Kaerner. Master Zero. The Mad One, Sirrus. The Architect, Reinthaler. The Warlord, Maxamillian von Oberst. It spoke of the combined strength of those who founded the House, and those brought in within the infancy of the newest House of the Brotherhood. Tarentum had a strength that no other House would possess, that no other House could dream of.
The House was clutched up greedily by Alvaak, but that bond would not last forever. The Clan of Ronin was a cage that could never possess the strength of those potent individuals who made up the legacy of Tau.
As the years passed, Tau's link to Tarentum would be diluted, but never forgotten. And while names such as Kaerner and Zero moved onto greater things, other names continued to speak of the strength that would also live on within the House, and then the Clan that followed after. "Pappy" Le'Gar. Kumba. Haem. Pel. Ciara Tearnan. Proton. Telona Murrage. Rekio Corsair. Welshman. Spears. Anshar Kahn. Blade Cannabisia. Frosty Romanae. Doni Tzu. Windos. Karel. Archean. Scion Altera. Saitou. Ronovi Tavisaen.
Sith Bloodfyre.
Sith Bloodfyre.
Sith Bloodfyre!
"Master Sith Bloodfyre!"
The Shaevalian slowly focused his eyes. He was standing in the middle of a disused library, filled with dusty shelves, old tomes, and many forgotten memories. The library hadn't changed in the many years that had passed, as though even additional dist was afraid to settle and change the appearance of the room that had contained so much strength.
"Master Bloodfyre, if you please!"
The woman and her two assistants were hesitant to break a bubble of space around the Sith Master, but the looks on their faces implied that they were in a hurry, and wanted nothing more than to have the Shaevalian out of their way.
"We have a great deal of work to do, Master Bloodfyre, and your presence is not helping us along with our efforts at all." The woman looked as though she had been an old school mistress, one used to getting her way with the simple snap of her fingers. "Dr. Steiner has put in a request with your superiors on Yridia II, and I am here to inform you that Marshal Oberst has called for your presence at once. You are to leave this facility and return to him for an urgent meeting."
Sith moved much more quickly than the woman would have been able to comprehend. The Force allowed the Sith Master to accomplish so much more than any mere mortal. The woman's neck was in the Shaevalian's hand, and her feet lifted several feet off the ground before she could even acknowledge the fact that she was being strangled. Her legs began to kick wildly, and she clawed at the man's hands at her throat. His eyes caught her attention, and suddenly all movement ceased, and her body went almost as limp as sudden death.
She still lived, but her will and intelligence was caught up in the man's gaze. And while she would have no retained conscious thought of actually hearing the man speak, she would know his words, and her assistants began to edge back closer and closer to the exit.
"I will leave when I choose to leave, wench."
The woman's limp body hurled across the several yards gap and crashed into her two assistants, bowling the two men over. All three beings could not recall clearly after if they had been able to scramble through the doors, or if they had been thrown back through by the force of the man tossing the woman away from him. But as all three made as much haste away from the library as they could, a parting thought rang within their ears.
"Oberst can come for me himself if he doesn't want me here..."