Dominion A Wretched Hive - NIO Dominion of Phaeda

[Ramses of Edessa]

Spoiler: Spoiler

// JUDAS //
// GETTING A BOUNTY //
// O P E N //
// Wah wah wah... //

Taking a droid in 'alive' was definitely a first. Normally droid bounties were rogue assassin droids or astromechs overdue for a memory wipe. Far less exciting was the bounty on the protocol droid that Judas had taken; A 3PO unit to be exact. Why anyone would want this ancient hunk of junk for anything was beyond Judas. What wasn't beyond him was the stupidly lucrative payout of the job. The rather nasty combat droids that guarded the 3PO unit were a rush, but it definitely didn't equate to the payout offered. There must have been some important info in the head of this dainty, gangling mess of electronics.

He hadn't bothered to cuff it or even put a restraining bolt on it. It was mostly harmless, to begin with, and was surprisingly cooperative. He supposed that even droids had a desire for self-preservation, probably part of their programming or something. The two of them walked down the streets of a non-descript Phaedan slum. It was a long walk back to the client, and the quickest route was through some of the worst parts of the city.

"Hey you, Mando!" A voice called out from the sidewalk. A large, muscular bald human with head tattoos and the like began to follow him, along with his posse of similarly ugly miscreants.

"<Not smart to go wandering so far from home, Mando,>" Qupped a Rodian, buzzing and droning in his native tongue.

"Maybe he picked the wrong street," added a Devaronian.

"Maybe he picked the wrong neighborhood," a Gand quickly corrected.

The four men quickly circled him, each of them grinning with malice. The protocol droid looked around at them with its blank expressionless face. Judas stood silently in between all of them, slowly reaching for his blaster beneath the caplet. The men continued to joke around, jabbing at his armor and the state of the droid 'accompanying' him.

The sudden sound of blaster fire as one of the men fired at their feet. More and more blaster fire going down into the concrete created a reverberating crunch through the street. Judas jumped a few times, cornered, trying not to get shot in the foot. By the time he had almost pulled his blaster out the protocol droid had already begun to hobble away at a quick pace. He took one step to try to grab the droid, but his foot stopped before he could make a full step. His momentum plunged him into the ground, helmet first into a puddle.

They had snuck a wire in front of his legs somehow.

The four men guffawed, laughing and joking as they made their wack back to where they were before they'd followed him. They took a few more potshots at the droid's feet as they walked away, causing it to exclaim as it finally hobbled around a corner and started down an alley. Judas picked his helmeted head up out of the puddle and sighed. He slowly came to his feet and brushed himself off. He looked around for the droid... nowhere to be found.

He turned around back the way he came, his eyes finding the men who'd just harassed him. They'd already returned to their 'spot' laughing, drinking, and smoking some kind of spice from the looks of it. Judas looked back over his shoulder for the droid again, but it was still nowhere to be seen. A deep breath of discontentment preceding a forward march towards the gang of reprobates.

"It's the Mando."

"Didn't you get the idea? We don't like seeing troublemakers like you in our neighborhood."

"<Yeah, go get your droid!>"

"You let it get away from you?"

The rogues all laughed, exchanging glances and shoulder punches. It was clear they didn't take him very seriously after the exchange they had just had.

"Yeah, you see, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. He's feeling real bad," Judas spoke up, his voice muffled by the helmet over his head.

"<What?>"

"My droid. You see he got all riled up when you men fired those shots at his feet."

There was a small pause as the men looked at each other with unenthused confusion.

"You trying to be funny?"

Judas held up his hand dismissively and shook his head. "No, no. I understand you men were just playing around, but the droid, he just doesn't get it. Now, of course, if you were to all apologize-"

There was thunderous laughter almost instantly. Each one of them looking at him with humorous disbelief. Judas stood motionless and silent as they reveled in their humor. As the laughter continued, Judas flipped the caplet up over his shoulder, unobscuring his right side and exposing the holster and slugthrowing pistol on his hip.

"My droid doesn't like you laughin'" the air was suddenly thick with tension as the laughter was cut short. Several onlookers had grown silent in the distance, all eyes on Judas and the four men who stood before him. "He gets the crazy idea that you're laughin' at him." Each of the scoundrels gave each other side glances and slowly reached for their own blasters.

"Now, if you'd apologize like I know you're going to..."

Everyone was almost dead still. Eyes glancing between eachother, their holsters, and Judas. The few seconds of stillness could have felt like minutes. The Rodian spit on the sidewalk, fingers twitching to reach for his blaster.

Judas knew that the Devaronian would be the first to reach. He also knew exactly when he was going to do it, too. He couldn't explain how he knew, he just knew. Judas' hand snapped downwards to grab his slugthrower only a minuscule micro-moment before the first muscle in the Devaronian's arm made the move. Seeing the Devaronian reach in their peripheral, his comrades took it as their queue to do the same.

GLAK

GLAK

GUH-GLAK

Four distinct thuds of bodies meeting the ground brought the tension to a close. Judas looked down at the corpses of his assailants with a sense of morbid satisfaction. He looked around at the stunned crowd of onlookers. A diverse crowd of thugs, downtrodden, and regular citizens slack-jawed or otherwise impressed. He holstered his pistol and flipped the shoulder cape back down over his right side. A quick nod to the spectators preceded a leisurely left-face. Judas walked away with an absence of any real urgency in his pace.

Time to find that droid again.

 

[Aldritch Kaal]

// ZURS'HAZE'ALORN //
// RESIST RELAPSE //
// IMMEDIATELY REGRET DECISION //
// RETURN TO HQ AND DETOX //
// TRIP BALLS //
// P A N I C //
// THIRD EYE //

Shaze took cover around the corner of a building after running for what felt like hours. She'd lost the tie in her hair at some time-space junction when her vibrations were still in sync with the sixth dimension. Her curly, azure locks hung over her face, obscuring her third-eye which had all but recently been pried open by the dimethyltryptamine present in the 'Qrygl-spice'. The quasi-infinite globules of pure love energy still pursued her even to this hiding place. The benevolent hallucinations still instilled her virgin mortal consciousness with fear. She'd never experienced this plane of higher being before.

Confused, and still yet to adjust to the infinite collective being of the galaxy, she fled. The somniferous songs of the wisps and seraphim in the skies were hard to resist. Were it not for the Kowakian monkey-lizard with the face of Beatrice Govan Zambrano constantly mocking her from her shoulder, she would have all by lost sync with the higher dimensions and fallen into a slumber by now. She continued to sprint, babbling about the ones who come from beyond. She needed to vibrate higher to be free of this hell, but her second self was still to demure to performtheactionsneededinordertoreachthepromisedlandofloveandonenessallthewhileghostsofthepastfollowedbehindthenewspectrumlayrevealedbythethirdeyeallowinghertoseethephosphorescentbarbariansthatchasedeverydecisionuptonowwhiletheancientbeingsthatpulledthestringsinthedarkbowelsoftherpersonaHAVINGYETFALLENTOFALSEPHILOSOPHYOFINDIVIDUALISMPULLEDONEBYONETHELEVERSTHATMADEHERLEGSMOVESHEFLEDFASTERDOWNTHEWINDINGSTREETSOFLIQIUIDCOLORALLTHEFACESOFTHESPECTATORSGRIMSIVISAGESOFTHECOALSEDBRILLIANCETHATNOTEVENTHECOREOFTHEGALAXYCOULD-

She was in a club now, with no real recollection of how she got there. She quickly synced with the emanating vibe of the music that played as she became one with the colors and the cosmic ripples of emotion that filled the room. She'd lost her overshirt somewhere along the way, along with both of her shoes. The seven-dimensional ophanim that pursued her originally had all but halted their dogmatic tracking of her spirit essence.

She was tired.
A short nap.
The third eye closed.
Slumber.

 

[Hiram Voss]

Objective III: Operational Overwatch
Location: NIV Rapier, Phaedan Orbit

"Priority transmission commander, from the NIO Dragoon," The signals officer barked from his station. Hiram licked his lips as if he were to dine on fine Mon Cala caviar and swivelled in his obsidian throne to face the youthful ensign. The commander gave a nod for the young man to proceed, "They've scanned a vessel in that sector attempting to use the storms atmospheric disturbance as a cover." Lieutenant Hadrian Boars now took point, and proceeded over to the young ensigns terminal, looking over the technical readout provided by the Dragoon. "Vessel is tracking at a trajectory of point, nine-eight, sir."

"It's an older vessel, modified Cygnus Spaceworks, DU-25 model freighter sir." Boars reported from his position, leering over the technical data obtained, "Seems to have heavily modified engine output, and it's cargo bay seems to be reinforced with some sort of material which has scrambled the Dragoon's sensors." The lieutenant informed his superior. "What is your command?"

Hiram paused and then eyed his lieutenant, contemplating his next course, "Have the Mastodon and Dragoon form a perimeter and track the vessel from a distance," Voss stood up from his command chair and walked across the deck toward the Rapier's helm, setting himself up behind the helmsman and navigational station, "I want us to move in, and engage the vessel. Close range." Voss allowed himself a small wry smile, "Prepare a boarding party, we're going to take these bastards alive."

The Rapier began to dive, the Vandal-Class corvette piercing through the void while its two associates began to quietly increase speed and pursue. "Time is of the essence," Hiram snapped as the Rapier pierced through the outer layers of the atmosphere and ozone of Phaeda, "I want ion batteries focusing fire upon the vessels engines, and command deck. Aim a proton torpedo at the starboard engines. Shove one right in there." The Rapier soon found itself meeting and then tracking the rogue freighter, which itself was trying to break the atmosphere, and almost did so. A relentless barrage of ion shot began to pelt the older freighters hull. Its shields absorbed most of the fire, but could be seen to falter. The proton torpedo was the final straw, and the starboard engine detonated and ruptured. Causing a sizeable explosion. The DU-25 now lost power, but its momentum nevertheless still carried it further into the void. The Rapier now closed in on its prey.

Hiram stood from his position and turned back to Boars, "Ensure the hyperdrive is disabled and disconnected before cargo is secured." Hiram commanded, "Make sure to keep prisoners alive. I want to be able to give Tavlar some scum to parade back home with." Hiram offered with another small smile, before looking over the freighter as the Rapier approached. "Y'know lieutenant, I think this has been the beginning of a rather fruitful morning for us." Voss conceded, giving a small nod.

"Rather exciting little chase for our first catch of the day."

 

[VK-462]

// VK-462 //
// OPERATION BLACK DICE //
// Lunafreya Solidor O P E N //
// Whims Of Fate //

"I asked for an escort, that at least meant dressing appropriately, but you will do, or at least I hope so. Follow me and try to blend in, trooper.”

Yieda looked down at her armor for a short moment. It hadn't been a problem while she waited here, nor did anyone say anything about wearing civvies. If anything, Yieda figured whatever prissy aristocrat she had to guard would feel safer with an armor-clad member of the Nova Corps following them around. Oh well, whatever, it didn't matter. She'd just follow the droid and look intimidating and get this assignment over with. It'd all be worth it afterward with that sweet earned Phaedan leave.

“All right, sergeant... Warren, our goal here is information. So keep it together, did they gave a credit card as well?”

The blank-stare of the Nova Corps helmet would fixate on the woman for a long, motionless moment.

<"Warlock. And negative.">

Yieda passively watched the woman gamble for several minutes. Win after win the money continued to stack up. Several glares from the crowd and casino security lit a fire of slow-burning tension that began to fill up the play-area. She surely couldn't have been cheating, but such luck was hard to believe. Yieda finally spoke up when the winnings were moved to another table.

<"How does this help us with information?">

 

[Darth Kalyptos]

// OBJECTIVE // BYOHP - Bring Your Own Hardcore Psychedelics
// LOCATION // Apartment Block
// FOCUS // Khudak Dai | @IamTrajanKurze

The usual depressants and stimulants that the Galaxy had often fell prey too as far as addictive and mentally manipulative substances were far less interesting to the Gand. He had left his homeworld as a Findsman. A hunter. However his noble duty and profession soon fell to the way side as he sought to replicate the same mystic concoctions he'd consumed on Gand. They were incredibly fascinating in their effect, their scope. Even still. They were not enough.

His last customer in the Chiss Purge Commando certainly seemed to agree. Or at the very least enjoy his product. Even if his rebreather was half methane, half micro-dosing his own supply, his trip was far more tame in its profoundness than Shaze's. He practically lived with a hit of spice in his system at any given time.

Within the basement manufacturing lab of the apartment block he heard the clammor and commotion erupting all around him. Something was happening. The Gand could only assume there was no way, no how it was any local police or militia force. Had to be a rival gang. And in that case, all he need do is pack up and move to a new venue, making off with a nonsensical ramble which would likely grant him some level of sympathy. Worked every time. What he didn't realize is he was taking a bet on...Mandalorians.

 

[Gat Tambor]

// "SSD" //
// OBJECTIVE // I brought my own!
// FOCUS // No one!

---

---

---

"Ahhh- well, Mr. Tambor or- what did you say to call you again?" The Kiffar foreman asked the Skakoan who stood before him in open contemplation. His amber, beady eyes focused on the man as he spoke. His fingertips continued to prod against one another in a sporradic pattern. The pair were deep into a whopping...fifteen minute conversation. With the planet almost certainly the next to be brought into the New Imperial fold, it was only fitting that Tambor be interested in its economic assets.

Machinery and industrial clammoring continued to sound out through the fledging surface side repair and refitting facility. It wasn't...the highest quality of it establishments but it was an essential one. The last thing anyone wanted was to be stuck planetside on Phaeda. Anywhere for that matter, but especially Phaeda. It was...well it was Phaeda. It was the lowest of the low but at the very least. It was...it was interesting.

"You see I mean...we employ a lot of good folk here, lotta people been working this job for a while. It's hard to find an honest living on Phaeda. I don't wanna see it go away. I feel like we're doing a good service." The Kiffar spoke up.

"Hmm...yes, I understand. My interest is not in uprooting it at its foundations but building upon it. I very well think we can buy and clear out the neighboring blocks and expand into several other hangar bays and ideally with time...production facilities. All of this will need a competent foreman to oversee. If we meet a mutual understanding, that man may be you." Tambor offered. He was looking in the interests of the economy and the New Imperial war machine. TIE pattern fighters were needed in droves at the front and luckily, with the design standardization and simplicity, it didn't require all too many complex facilities to piece them together. Phaeda wasn't the closest but it certainly was away enough from the front to consider strategic production.

"Ah- you know what. If it's not you its probably someone else. Yeah, we've got a deal." The Kiffar responded, shaking hands with the Skakoan who offered a low nod. A deal done and a small sliver of Phaeda following under Gat's shadow of trade tyranny.

 

[Khudak Dai]

<< Objective II : Black Dice
<< Focus : Trajan Fett

---

---

Khudak chuckled, her knees creaking as she swooped low. Tucking in her chin she rammed her shoulder into the next unfortunate ganger. The spikes decorated her beskar’gam piercing the man’s chin and flesh. It wasn’t pretty as she stormed down the hall, shoving and throwing punches, slapping aside a stray vibroknife aimed-cursing loudly as it skidded across her plate knicking her arm. The woman's voice..certainly carried, the booming voice followed by the creek and smash of dry wall as she bull charged the knife wielder through the crumbling wall.

<”This is..getting hard..”> she wheezed, though Trajan would not be able to actually see the woman. Dust hung in the air where she had..smashed the soul through into the next room. A hot minute before the colossus woman’s hand clamping itself on the edge of the wall-a smash and louder crack sounding behind her as she tripped back into the hall. Flexing her shoulders, she howled at the remaining gangers.

<”That’s five, Chief!”>

 

[Hiram Voss]

Objective III: Operational Oversight
Location: NIV Rapier, Phadean Orbit

The battle was short. Three wounded Imperial marines, four dead Phadeans and six wounded. Ten, alive. Hiram made sure to be waiting at the airlock flanked by lieutenant Boars. The two stood overseeing the cargo being transferred to the Rapier from the rogue freighter which had been ascertained to be the Jolly Venture. Independent cargo hauler wanted for the smuggling of contraband in Silver Jedi Order territory and registered in Outer Planets Alliance space.The commander of their demise made sure to sneer at each neer'do well as they were frogmarched off of the vessel. As the last of them was hauled off, Hiram's attentions turned to the stormtrooper in charge, major Gaige Marin. "Major," The navy man began, "Have your men compiled a list of the cargo yet? I want to see what made these guys so eager to run."

Marin paused, and searched her person, seeming to think some kind of datapad was on her person, "It was mainly old..." Her voice trailed off as she searched every portion of her utility belt, until she realised it was gone, "I left it with one of your men commander, apologies. But the cargo was mainly arms and beskar of Mandalorian Empire vintage." She informed her superior, "Although given what they were fighting with, the prisoners taken were not Mandalorian or at the very least not attired in their armour." the major stood to attention before Hiram. "Was there anything else to attend to sir?"

Hiram gave a slow nod as he took in the information, "No, major. Attend to your men." He commanded, "And make sure you and your troops receive double rations." The naval commander added before punctuating his interrogation with a salute, "Dismissed major." Marin walked down the hall and away from Voss, who entered the Venture flanked by Boars. The vessel was filthy. Clearly ill-maintained with carbon scorch marks from rough atmospheric entry scarring the vessel.

"Lieutenant," Hiram began as he strode through, "Send word to the engineering team, I want the navigational records of this vessel checked and downloaded for appraisal." Voss commanded as he entered into the cargo bay of the Jolly Venture. The cargo was largely gone now. One could see where it had been stacked on magnetised pallets. Only a few low level officers and crewman remained, packing what was obviously beskar armour into crates signed with the New Imperial Order's sigil. Voss strode through and around the working crewmen until he saw the highest ranking officer, a second lieutenant with his eyes glued to a datapad. "That the manifest?" Hiram inquired with a cool drawl.

The junior officer almost jumped from his skin hearing Voss' voice and turned around. He immediately saluted and gave a nod, "Yessir, it's all right here. Myself and ensign Jorges have been listing off equipment." Hiram extended an open palm and the second lieutenant blinked like a dull, domesticated animal. A pause, and then he realised his mistake, "S-sorry sir." He provided the tablet, and then stood to attention.

"Dismissed." Hiram mused, looking down and scrolling up the datapad with a stylus. "Interesting, lieutenant. Some very interesting cargo our friends were carrying." The imperial officer mused to his subordinate. Boars leaned over Hiram's shoulder and they began to read through the manifest and accounted for weapons. Ten packs of thirty three thermal detonators. One crate of mining detonators. Three hundred kilograms of refined and packaged glitterstim. Approximately thirty three Westar-35 Pistols. Forty two sets of Mandalorian armour in pristine condition. All armour sets as of yet unpainted but had the Mandalorian Empire's sigil emblazoned in the back of the helm. Several as of yet unidentified anti-vehicle ordinances. Four speeder bikes made of various models in patchwork fashion. Nine jetpacks in varied condition. Finally one hundred and seventy three litres of jetpack propellant.

"Seems the Jolly Venture may not have been the rebels we thought." Boars mused after he'd finished reading the list from over Hiram's shoulder. The taller officer leaned against a nearby cargo container which held the jetpack fuel. "What do you make of all this, commander?" Boars inquired, watching as Hiram put the stylus back in its slot with a satisfying click.

"I think our friends here probably weren't rebels, but may have been trying to cut a deal with the insurgents," Hiram mused, before licking his lips, "Or perhaps, more accurately would have scavenged this. If they were cutting a deal, I can't imagine we'd fine the bay as full as it is." He then paused, "Mandalorian space at the height of their empire was very close to this sector. And given their inability to organise anything with any solidarity it isn't beyond belief to think some rogue clan or organiser stashed this here for safe keeping." Voss mused, to lieutenant Boars' approving nods. "So, I think our friends here, get word of a score. Probably a cache of Mandalorian weapons and armour and other gear stowed away, take it. Maybe even want to sell it. We turn up, they think we'll take it. Try to run, we nab 'em." Voss seemed a little downtrodden by this.

"Not exactly the rebel leadership I wanted but, bah," He turned off the datapad and waved his arm, "Still something to log to command." He paused, "Make sure lieutenant our captives are interrogated and transferred to the Epitath when it's operational. Want to make sure we have our angles covered."

 

[Ramses of Edessa]

// JUDAS //
// FIND THAT DROID //
// TITOLI //

Judas made his way around the corner where the droid had originally disappeared. Aided only by the faint glow of its footsteps that displayed from his visor he tracked it. That droid had made it much farther than he had would have initially expected. Several alleyways and short excursions onto the streets later, the trail ended. The only thing he had left to go on now was intuition and, if there were any, witnesses. Asking around didn't yield much without having to throw a few credits around.

Every witness account he could afford culminated to him traversing down a steep decline of any alleyway. The trail picked up again at the end of the alley, leading straight down a small set of stairs and through a basement door. He banged his fist on the door a few times, but there as no answer. His boot knocked once, and the door flung open. Before him was a Twi'lek and three Sullustans stripping the droid for parts. Judas sighed.

GLAK

GLAK

GUH-GLAK

Time to learn how to put a droid back together.

 

[Boram Predor]

// Moff Predor //
// Objective // 3 // Kill Someone //
// Focus // Tace Kurze //

---

---

There are certain thoughts that only get brought up in your brain when an oomsh-fruit is running down your fast, and falling with an unimpressive splat on the floor below. The wheels could be seen turning behind the Moff's head, the air clouding with pent up anger as he stared out into the distance. The first thought was to slaughter the entire city. Boram heard of a certain Sith in the past that destroyed a planet to kill one person.

As Moff Predor looked down at the crowd that tossed it, he empathized with that man.

His grey eyes then flickered to the cameras, the anger in his eyes even shining through the greyness of age. The cameraman would regret turning them off slow as he did, a year of re-educate him will hopefully correct him.

All footage would be deleted, but that wouldn't fix what the crowd of Phaedaens saw.

Anger pushed past embarrassment as a glove wiped the juice of the fruit from his face, whipping it to the ground. With one last gaze to the crowd Boram spun his cloak around and left the balcony, pushing aside assistants than immediately flanked him. Boram made his way to his guard captain, thin lips chewing the words as he spat them out.

"Find them."

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: By Her Grace //:
//: Chinesti //:
//: Black Dice - Answering His Summon //:
//: Loyal, Brave, & True //: Vaulkhar ​

Tea met her lips while she listened to his words. He was a proud man, he always had been. Something still pulled him to war. Spencer understood the stories she told their son were full of pride for the Father. She wondered if she had created this romanticized version of war and the man, did it do more harm to their son in the long run? As a mother, she wanted to ensure that Errant didn’t hate his Father. He had his honor, and it pulled him to war - it was that same honor that continued to pull him even after his death.​

The cup remained in her hand as she listened to his judgment of the other Jedi, she agreed with him seeing the fall of the Silver Jedi from their rise. She had watched the Galactic Alliance crumble under the Sith’s heel, even with her efforts. The Outer Planetary Alliance and the Confederacy were hypocrites. It pained her to place one of her close connections into a pile of hypocrites that filled the galaxy. Spencer knew she walked away from fighting because she needed to protect someone she felt was more important than the galaxy. As much as she wanted to be angry with Vaulkhar, she knew his path was to ensure their son’s safety. Her selfish desire to have wanted him to stay home burned a hole in her heart. The Mother couldn’t fault the Father for his willingness to protect, he did what he thought was best for the Mother of his Child and his Child.​

Another sip, as she let her mind work through the sudden flare-up of her emotions. She had initially come to fight with him, call him names about abandoning her and Errant. Yet, she found her answers, and she wanted them not to make sense, but they did. Her lips parted to answer him comment about the Masters of the galaxy and the absence of this proverbial hero. Vaulkhar, his voice was different when he said her name. For a moment, she saw the man that had pulled her into a whirlwind of a romance, showed her once more what love was, and her heart broke - wishing for those days to come back to her even if she had to just watch them pass with the same ending.​

The cup nearly fell from her hand, but with grace, she hid the stumble and shock. Delicately it found its place on the saucer, and she placed her hands in her lap as she mulled over his words. As much as she wanted to fight and deny him, they both knew there was a place for him. If he wasn’t welcomed in her life, she wouldn’t have answered the summon. ​

“Vaulkhar, ever since the day you walked into my life, you’ve had a place in my life. Even after you’ve gone to war, died and returned. Your place has not changed. You’ll forever be the man that showed me how to love again, the man that blessed me a beautiful and wonderful son.” Spencer smiled softly and looked warmly upon him, her hand reached out over the table. She wondered if his words held weight in them, but she could only try. The man deserved to rest after giving everything that he was to the war and the fight.​

“Vaulkhar, come home - you’ve been away for too long.” Their son would be protected, no matter the outcome of this exchange. Errant was always going to be protected by Ashla and Bogan as they protected Bendu until the end of time.​

 

[Vaulkhar]

// Lord Executor //
// Location // Chinesti //
// Objective // Black Dice // Answers //
// Focus // Spencer Varanin //

---

---

Silence gripped the typically faceless man. Spencer had long earned Vaulkhar's respect, enough for the fallen Jedi to remain silent as she spoke. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe such thoughts impactful in comparison to the likes of his father, but to him, the few people who'd made a difference would not be forgotten. She stood head and shoulders above the other two. Cotan, his best friend and former master, saw behind the mask Vaulkhar crafted himself. Rather than leave the troubled man to suffer, the Jedi Master accepted Vaulkhar's desire for change at face value, training him in the Jedi arts, making him something more than the bloodied assassin the halfbreed's father expected him to be. Beside Cotan stood Irveric Tavlar, the man who'd defy the gods. While countless eras carried death unto the common man, the Sovereign-Imperator refused to lie down and die as so many others had. Through sheer force of will, he inspired a movement meant to destroy established powers eons in the making. Yet, Spencer shone in comparison to both of them. Vaulkhar saw her for more than just a master forgotten to time. He saw her as the mother of his child, the woman who'd made something beautiful of his cursed existence.

Spencer was many things. An unparalleled master of the mind, she practiced arts many deemed dangerous or impractical. Few in the galaxy could boast what Spencer experienced, if any at all. Formerly the Queen of Eshan, she bore the regality of nobility as if she'd never abandoned the title. It hung about her, much like the dreadful visage of doom that decorated Vaulkhar's horrifying form. The fallen Jedi knew these factors of her intimately. He'd seen her at her best, a being of immense power and beauty, yet it all paled in comparison to a straightforward truth. Spencer was the mother of his child. The moment Vaulkhar looked into Errant's loving gaze, peering past the pools of honey-gold, the fallen Jedi knew Spencer did everything right. The boy held no hatred for his absent father, only loving respect for the man who'd walked away from everything to protect their family. That love only grew in depth and intensity when Vaulkhar returned to their family, finding a place in a home that should've felt foreign, but instead, felt wholly familiar. Spencer did not raise a single complaint to him, accepting the former Sith Lord back into their lives. It wasn't until he said his goodbyes, ready to die, did she contest his will.

"Spencer, in all ways but one, I am ready to return home with you," Vaulkhar reached out, his hand taking hold of her own. "I'm so tired," his shoulder slumped, the weight of his very existence seemed to hang heavily upon the tortured creature. No longer did the Executor feel the need to feign strength. He accepted his life for what it had become, an endless struggle against an unbeatable foe. "In time, I believe I will be more than willing to abandon the mantle of Executor and return to Eshan. Our home was so beautiful, I'd love to look upon it with my own eyes again, but," he struggled to find the right words, his mind torn between an undying duty, and the inkling of want within him. "I cannot abandon Errant to this war. He isn't yet aware of who I am, as I've taken care to shroud my true identity in mystery. When the time is right, I'd like to approach him and share the truth of what I've become. Until then, I must remain here and fight."

Vaulkhar expected her to once more contest his decision, as fighting had torn them apart, to begin with. Perhaps that selfish desire to make amends with his past would not release him until he'd seen the battle to its end, but he knew there was no abandoning this fight. At least not while he had a stake in it.

"Errant needs me here."

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: By Her Grace //:
//: Chinesti //:
//: Black Dice - Answering His Summon //:
//: Call to Action //: Vaulkhar ​

To be so close to having everything she had ever wanted, the feeling was surreal. Spencer held the wound’s hand, and the memories she buried so deep in her heart surfaced. She no longer saw the fallen Jedi, she saw the man with long black hair, a youthful face alive with dreams, and she felt her heart skip a beat. A tear threatened to fall from her eye, knowing that he had been taken from her. Beautiful memories of the family filled her mind from his touch ones that kept Errant happy until he could see his father again. With the good also came the bad, she couldn’t stop the flood of memories. Her heart continued to bleed, remembering the day she felt his death. ​

Spencer had known it was his fate to die on Kintan, she had seen it in dreams while he slept peacefully beside her. Maybe she could have changed his destiny by telling him what was to happen to him if he left, but playing with the Force’s will could have catastrophic consequences. The Force could have taken Errant from her. In the end, the woman made her choice and chose their defenseless child. Watching Vaulkhar leave that day, she knew it was going to be the last day she ever saw him. Spencer cursed every moment she felt him fighting, the internal struggle that sealed his fate, and finally, the moment he returned to the Force by the hands of his father. ​

Remembering these moments, seeing them so vividly, she tightened her grip on his hand, it was enough to let him know she wasn’t letting go. Regaining her composure, the former monarch rolled her shoulders back and ran a single finger under her eye, preventing the tear from ruining her makeup. A small vibration on the woman’s wrist alerted her that their time was up, which meant her escorts were becoming impatient. The women that had remained loyal to her already were uncomfortable that she had decided to enter the meeting alone. Ignoring the summon, Spencer, nodded understanding his choices, despite wanting him to be heading back to Eshan with her. ​

“Errant needs us both.” She was no longer Queen, she didn’t have the same obligations as before. Something had changed in her heart, she cleared her voice and continued. “You can’t fully believe that I’ll just allow our son to fight this war with only you watching over him. I have to agree with you. Far too many of the experienced have buried their heads in the sand. Pretending there’s nothing wrong with the galaxy. There’s no reason for me to remain on the sidelines Vaulkhar, I can’t stand on the sidelines any longer.” ​

She stood, and the sound of her heels echoed in the soft silence between the former lovers. Spencer stood beside him, still holding onto the hand that she let go so long ago. “Vaulkhar, I wanted to go with you so long ago. I wonder if I could have prevented everything that has happened to you. I will stand by your side until we can all go home. You, Errant, and me, back home to Eshan safely.” Her words trailing off as a tentative hand caressed the outline of his face, drawing his attention up to her. “I love you, Vaulkhar.” She leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his. A sense of familiarity washed over her; it took her comm device vibrating again to force her away from him. ​

Fingers trailed along his jawline, finishing at the tip of his chin. Spencer wasn’t going to let the cookings go unappreciated; grabbing one, she took a bite and looked over her shoulder. “You should send me where you’re residing in Imperial space. I’ll be waiting. Say hello to our son for me.” The woman wrapped the warm cloak around her slender frame as she left the restaurant.​

 

[Lunafreya Solidor]

// OBJECTIVE BLACK DICE //
// VK-462 // ​

“Right this way, madam.”, The droid spoke in a slow mechanical voice as the three aliens followed after him, silently. The droid was taking them to the first floor, where all the high-roller players played, only those with a lot of money or a lot of influence stayed there, which had always been her goal since the beginning of that wonderful adventure through that sewer called Phaeda.

When the elevator doors opened, the aroma of drink and tobacco filled his nostrils as his eyes contemplated an almost infinite myriad of alien life in a small, enclosed environment. There were creatures she had never seen in her life, others she would never see again, with people from all over the galaxy too, members of the Empire, members of the New Order, Alliance, CIS, all leaving their differences aside to be there, playing, drinking, eating and celebrating anything that was more important to them than their governments and the affairs of the universe, a utopian scene that could make her feel almost regurgitate, was either that or the drinking. But at the center of that hall of infamy there was a huge closed dome where an immense trogodile roared powerful and victorious in the middle of the arena.

"Do you know how to play sabacc, sergeant?", Lunafreya asked, gently tilting his head towards the soldier at his side. A smile was already spreading across his lips, coming easily after so much alcohol ingested between a glass of ambrostine and another. “I do have something I must confess to you. I entered him in the gladiatorial arena series of three, best of luck with that… droid! ”, She screamed and the machine turned. "You can escort him to the arena now.", Again turned to the sergeant, "I bet a good amount of money on you, so do me a favor not to die."

"Follow me, please.", The droid said to the soldier and Lunafreya gave him a farewell wave as she walked away. It was a simple dispute, the soldier would face three opponents in singular combat, he should do this unarmed and until death, or almost that, she heard that no one has ever won the arena challenge, but anyway. Her violet eyes guided her to a table guarded by a velvet strap, she made sure to put one foot in front of the other while walking so that it looked like she was more intoxicated than usual.

“Off limits, madam.”, said the voice of a huge herglic rising from the stool beside the line and behind him, way above it, was a huge table were only five players out of six were playing sabacc. She knew who they were, she got information on them all before coming there from her father's servant.

“I want to play.”, Lunafreya said and the herglic then raised his hand to her indicating that he leave there and go to another corner and she did nothing, did not even move when Zozoped's scaly fingers closed around the man's wrist. herglic and his fist struck at once against his face. The two aliens falling to the side struggling, as she pulled the velvet rope free from the floor, while she used her hands to lift her dress and pull her scarf so she wouldn't touch that dispute, taking her place on the sabacc table... “Hello, boys… Would any of you mind if I join? By the way... ", and from her furry scarf she gently placed another cigarra on her full red lips. "Anyone has a lighter?"