Private Children of Shiraya: In the Shadow's Wake

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Temperance City
Nyriaan
Imperial Space





Hunkered down behind a garbage receptacle Brandyn was picking Mire Nettle from his cloak. The Nyriaan Spice tip-off had proven not just a waste of time, but now actively annoying. In fact his whole time in Temperance's tenement district had proven to be quite disheartening, but still there was something about the look in his tipsters eyes when they said that The New Way were planning a meeting soon - that look made Brandyn inclined to have faith that he was on the right path.

Being undercover had meant that he had become quite adept at masking his presence in the Force, but so much time hiding that he was a Jedi had left him rusty in almost every other aspect of his training. Quietly, he muttered a complaint that yet again his sister, Briana Sal-Soren, would have the chance to excel at something that had been his dream initially. The only satisfaction he could take in this was that she would not see him coming when they reunited. Oh, the pranks that could be pulled!

The distraction of thinking about family had done little to expediate the cleaning of his cloak. "Damned, fraggin' Mire Nettle...gets all up in..."

His disgruntled murmur was cut short by the sound of footsteps. Now hyper-alert, Brandyn looked about for items, debris, anything that could be draped over his body to grant the appearance of a run-of-the-mill homeless inhabit of the region. Papers, a bit of muck and mud was pulled up and smeared haphazardly over his clothes, before he reclined and pulled his hood over his eyes.

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

Nyriaan wasn’t much different from any other planet in Imperial space, nor was Temperance much different from any other city; there were stout skyscrapers, bustling cantinas, crowded skylanes, and roving throngs of sentients. When Zorah’s shuttle touched down, spilling a company of stormtroopers from its debarkation bay, the people roaming the streets had hardly batted an eye- some of them. Others scattered into the cracks and crevices of the city like gutter rats, spreading word among their fellow insurgents.

The Empire had arrived.

The Special Task Force 141 stood at attention in front of her, arrayed in neat, orderly rows. Moff Kelran, for whatever reason, had seen fit to grant her command of this elite regiment of his legions, codenamed the Immortal Company, much to the dismay of Colonel Emmon, who was forced to share command with a Knight-Errant ‘barely out of her swaddling’; and when she was sent to Nyriaan to root out an Anti-Force user terrorist group that had branded themselves ‘The New Way’- another honor granted to her for the blood she bore rather than her experience- she brought the 141 with her.

Zorah had never been one for grand speeches. Words were wind- they meant nothing without actions to prop them up. “We have our orders,” she said succinctly, eyes roving the stormtrooper columns, her raven locks fluttering in the gentle breeze, her gold capelet billowing. “Move out.”

Captain Dyvos Spaceworth saluted her, pressing his fist over his heart, turned about face, and led the troopers away in a solemn march. ISB had identified a few haunts of ‘The New Way’ during their clandestine investigations, run-down factories and after-hours taverns, to name a few; the 141 would split into one troop and five squads to visit violence and destruction upon each location, shaking the nest to see what stirred.

And Zorah would chase whatever scurried from beneath the underbrush.

---

She stalked the streets and alleys like an asharl panther, her booted heels clacking against the duracrete. One of the vandals- street artists, they called themselves- had spilled, after subtle coaxing in the Force and liberal applications of pointed violence, the location of an active safehouse for the more established members of ‘The New Way’- a haven for agents, he had called it.

Zorah had directed the 141 to the adjacent sector of the city so as not to tip her hand, playing the ignorant Knight chasing her tail.

She passed a mangy vagrant lying slumped behind a trash bin, a filthy hood hanging low on his face. A waste of space, she thought, lip curling. She was reminded of her brother Jorus- she’d found him passed-out in similar states on occasions too numerous to count, before her father finally disowned him and cast him out.

She nudged the figure with her boot. “Vagrancy is a crime in this sector,” she said through clenched teeth, angered by the mere thought of her disgraceful kin. A lesser woman might have found herself given to pity, but there was no room in Zorah’s heart for such soft sentiments. But no one could ever say that she was not fair. “There is a shelter for your ilk in the south. Go now, and I won’t have you arrested.”

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

"Vagrancy is a crime in this sector. There is a shelter for your ilk in the south. Go now, and I won't have you arrested."

There wasn't a citizen in the district that would have taken five seconds to show even this level of care for a street dweller. But even before processing that, Brandyn already knew who the voice was attached too. No, it was the tone of voice that was the immediate tip off. The disdainful authoritative undertones were matched by the serious monotone. Imperial. Cark it all.

Thankfully, she had given him an out. He only had to thread the needle with his growing, though far from perfect, acting chops.

He pretended to stir. Grumbling some profanities that he instantly felt embarrassed by. If his mother could hear him, he would never live it down. "It' is not the way of nobility to stoop to such gratuitous vulgarity," she would say, or something close.

Brandyn propped himself up on the large garbage bin next to him, purposely letting his hand slip to see him hit the ground again. More profanity tumbled forth, and he pushed to all fours, and then finally to his feet being careful at all moments to keep his face hid beneath his hood.

"Thank your kindness," he said, subtle accent hidden beneath his act. He lifted his dirty but blemish free hands up in a show of acquiescence.

Walk away. Not too slow. Not too fast. Limp a little. That's right. Brandyn mentally coached himself towards the corner, and some modicum of safety.

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

The vagrant grumbled, groaned, and lurched to his feet, stumbling as if drunk. He never looked up, not even once, keeping his face angled towards the ground.

Funny, the Knight-Errant thought, eyeing the grimy robe- is that Mire Nettle? -she didn’t smell the stink of alcohol. Nor much stink at all, save that wafting from the garbage. And his garbs, for all that they were covered in fresh grime, were well made and well kept.

Her brow furrowed in suspicion. His clothes were dirty, but only just so. And how had a homeless vagrant managed to get Mire Nettle stuck in his cloak?

“Thank your kindness,” he said, lifting his hands as if in thanks.

His hands… they were filthy, yes, but well shaped, and not marred with the deep smudges of days and days and days of living in filth. It looked more like he’d dipped his hands in trash and then smeared the grime over himself. The sort of homeless who drank until they passed out in the alleys were the sort to be suffering the symptoms of liver failure, and yet his hands weren't the slightest bit swollen.

Her suspicions solidified, gaining weight and traction.

The vagrant started to scurry away, but she swiftly stepped into his path before he could disappear around the bend, a hand rising to alight upon the hilt of her lightsaber. If this is a vagrant, she thought, then I am a beek-monkey’s uncle.

“You’re hiding something,” she said through clenched teeth, indignation rising in her gut. Was this an agent of the New Way attempting to play her for a fool? Her lightsaber was suddenly in her hand, the brilliant white blade still unlit.

A nudge with the Force, and the faux-vagrant’s hood was snatched back, revealing his face.

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

He was just a few steps away from surely being free. If not free, at least able to run, or pick up the pace a little and get to safety faster. The excitement of the near miss began to well up within Brandyn's chest, and a smirk crept uncontrollably across is face. I am getting good at this.

"You're hiding something."

The gratuitous vulgarity was for real this time, muttered in a manner barely audible. And then his hood flew back, bringing a sharp turn of his head. Saber. Force-User. Carkin' sithspawn.

Hands, palms towards the Imp, came up again, as he bowed his head. "My Lord. Forgive me. I was...meeting a friend here...of all places...and when I saw you coming, I feared that you would think me some drug pusher or...or...or a purchaser. I told him I didn't want to meet in an alley, but he insisted...and then I panicked...I can see that you carry the strength of mercy, and I beg myself pardoned this one more time."

Palms turned up in a hopeful plea. It was a bad lie. One that he would not believe if it was said to him. But the truth was worse.

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

The vagrant was a young man probably only a few years older than her with a scruffy beard and somewhat lank, dark brown hair. He was handsome, she supposed- a handsome liar who insisted on insulting her intelligence with lies. Either he was a common criminal found in the wrong place at the wrong time, or he was affiliated with the New Way and was attempting to weasel his way to safety. The latter reality would see him captured and taken for extensive questioning.

The man raised his empty palms in a silent plea for mercy. "My Lord. Forgive me. I was...meeting a friend here...of all places...and when I saw you coming, I feared that you would think me some drug pusher or...or...or a purchaser. I told him I didn't want to meet in an alley, but he insisted...and then I panicked...I can see that you carry the strength of mercy, and I beg myself pardoned this one more time."

Her eyes narrowed into icy blue slits and she fought off the urge to punch him in his lying face. Zorah had been made for the battlefield, not investigations. Violence was usually her second answer to problem solving, when words proved incapable. This filthy liar was testing her already short patience. His story was nonsense, riddled with holes. Only a fool would fall for it.

“So you decided to pretend to be a homeless loiterer instead?” she ground out through clenched teeth, angling herself so that his back was to the wall in case he tried to run. “Mercy is a privilege that liars are not afforded. I will ask you this one time, and one time only; if you lie I will know.” She slipped her lightsaber free to punctuate the unspoken threat, though the blade remained unlit. “Are you a member of the New Way?”

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

"So you decided to pretend to be a homeless loiterer instead?"

"To be fair, it almost worked," he said quietly with a wry, almost cheeky smile, his head tilting with the attempted lightening of the moment.

"Mercy is a privilege that liars are not afforded. I will ask you this one time, and one time only; if you lie I will know."

His fingers twitched slightly with the threat. Brandyn shook his leg gently just to get the comforting feeling of his own saber hilt rocking back and forth on its hitch. "OK. I am lying. Alright? You got me. I surrender," he said as his eyes darted about his surroundings, evaluating his options. Eyes snapped back the Imp again with her next question. It was only with this question that she went from being just another Imp to someone with something to offer him.

"Are you a member of the New Way?"

"Wait," he said, taking a quarter step forward, "you know The New Way?"

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

The faux-vagrant reminded her of her brother. His cheeky smile, his dismissive attitude; they reminded her of nothing so much as Jorus, the one great failure of her family, drummed from Officer's academy and bumped down to the legions. An heir to the throne, serving in the legions! He was a disgrace to the Fel name. Just the mere thought of her him had her grinding her teeth.

"Wait," the man said. He took a small step forward. "You know the New Way?"

A wordless snarl clawed its way past her lips. She all but lunged at him, raising her forearm to press it against his throat as she drove him back into the wall, the emitter of her lightsaber angled dangerously towards his neck. She was livid. He thought himself clever, trying to fool her senses with a non-answer, as if she hadn't noticed his roving eyes searching frantically for an avenue of escape.

If this was the standard for New Way agents, she thought, then she'd have the lot of them rounded up by the evening.

She already knew the location of the safehouse, so she had no need to take him in for immediate questioning; it would be best, she thought, to put him down here and let the 141 pick him up later. Blunt Force trauma to the head would work just fine. He might be heavily concussed whenever he awoke, but he'd be alive to have his day in the courts...if Imperial Command didn't give the order to execute the members of New Way. Then he would die, and she would think nothing of it. Just another traitor gone to the grave.

She drew back with her free hand, her hand balled into a tight fist.

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

She was fast, but also he didn't want to fight. That was purely a last resort issue. This meant that her connection with his neck was true and firm as she intended, driving Brandyn's back to the wall. He gasped for air as his throat temporarily crushed inwards, before giving him some relief. Still, her arm on his neck was causing him to choke.

"Wait...wait," he coughed and spluttered, as his hands grappled with her arm, getting ready to push against it.

Years of wrestling, and losing to Briana and Blaire, had taught him a couple of tricks, but he was also well aware of the ferocity of the so-called 'gentler sex'. He could see that she was preparing for a punch.

"I'm...investigating...The New...Way," he said, spitting the words out, in some cases literally. The aim being for the words and the spittle based projectiles to create some short distraction.

With the end of the words, he settled on a grip of her elbow and wrist, foot pressed against the back wall, and he pushed against her arm with everything he had. His intention was to pivot on his foot right after pushing, and roll away from her, but instead he slipped on the same muck that he had previously tried to use as a disguise and he fell to the ground.

Propping up on one hand, he lifted the other. "I know the time...for their meeting...I just...haven't been able to find the location."

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

"Wait-wait," the man said, wheezing his words passed the pressure on his throat, "I'm...investigating...the New...Way."

Finally, the man spoke truth. But that only gave her more questions. Was he a vigilante? A local investigator?

Neither sounded quite right to her instincts...but whatever he was, he was surely a fool.

She eased up, leaned her face away- he spoke far to wetly- and almost cold-cocked him for grabbing her arm. What-? He tried to push her away, using the wall as leverage, but then he lost his footing and slipped to the ground, leasing his hold as he fell. It was a truly shameful display. He was like a flailing calf that was just finding its legs. Pathetic. If her eyes narrowed any further, they'd be slits.

"I know the time...for the meeting...I just...haven't been able to find the location." He lifted his hand as if she was meant to help him up.

She stepped back, regarding him with all the cool disdain she could muster, pointedly lowering her arms to her sides, fists still clenched. "Who are you? Why are you investigating the New Way? Why did you lie to me?!"

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn scrambled back up to his feet, hand still outstretched as if magically holding her at bay. He had to admit, he admired her tenacity. Only now he noticed that she wasn't have bad looking either, just a truly cold edge to all her features, especially her eyes that were like narrow fissures in a glacier. To top it all off, she sounded personally insulted by his lies.

"Do you blame me for lying? I don't want to have to answer questions for hours on end while the enemy is plotting somewhere in this very district," he said some conviction, his brows furrowing in frustration, "you have already held me up too long. I have like...a short window in which to find these people and learn what I can."

Pulling his hood back over his head, Brandyn straightened his back, and narrowed his eyes. If it was a staring contest she wanted, it was a staring contest he would fake.

"Now...either get out of my way...or if your interests align with mine...maybe we can make an arrangement, but whatever you decide, make it quick."

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

He didn't answer a single question. Just talked and talked and talked, saying absolutely nothing. Oh, he let slip little morsels of intel that implied greater knowledge, but nothing concrete enough to satisfy her. The urge to punch him surfaced anew; she activated her comm instead.

<"Captain Dyvos, dispatch two troopers from the Recon Unit to my position. Low-profile. I have a detainee for them; a human-male, shabbily dressed, with some sort of mental deficiency. He has a problem answering questions, so ask them hard.">

Zorah's thumb hovered over the switch of her lightsaber as she focused her attention back to the fool standing across from her. "You have no grounds to make demands of me, and no authority to enforce them. But I do. I gave you your chance and you squandered it. You dug this hole yourself."

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

He could not help but roll his eyes, using that moment as a double take for an escape route. There she went, calling for back-up, and offending him nonetheless. "Hey...the insults are just spiteful," he said with wrinkled brows and a nod towards her, "pettiness doesn't look good on you."

Turning about a bit, he pointed towards the end of the alleyway that was behind him. "They coming from that end?" He said, stalling.

"I appealed to your desire to catch The New Way, to work together, but instead you spat your pacifier. I have showed no signs of aggression...except...except in defense and only in an attempt to free myself when attacked. I am willing to share information...and the fact that I am not answering your questions directly should be enough of a hint as to their answer without them being answered," he said with a shrug. He considered showing his saber hilt to remove all doubt about his affiliation. Perhaps he should unmask his Force presence?

"The New Way are no friends of mine," he said bringing his eyes back to bear on her and putting aside any show of sarcasm or frivolity, "so I ask. Please. Call off the goons. Put the lightsaber away. Let's not lose a chance to end this terrorist group. I am small fry when compared to them."

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

"Hey...the insults are just spiteful," he said with wrinkled brows and a nod towards her, "pettiness doesn't look good on you."

He did not know true pettiness, Zorah thought. There was no man as petty and vindictive as Rodrik Fel, and she had grown up at his knee. But she wasn't being spiteful or petty. She truly believed the man was bent in the head.

"I appealed to your desire to catch The New Way, to work together, but instead you spat your pacifier. I have showed no signs of aggression...except...except in defense and only in an attempt to free myself when attacked. I am willing to share information...and the fact that I am not answering your questions directly should be enough of a hint as to their answer without them being answered," he said with a shrug. He considered showing his saber hilt to remove all doubt about his affiliation. Perhaps he should unmask his Force presence?

"The New Way are no friends of mine," he said bringing his eyes back to bear on her and putting aside any show of sarcasm or frivolity, "so I ask. Please. Call off the goons. Put the lightsaber away. Let's not lose a chance to end this terrorist group. I am small fry when compared to them."

He was mad. He had to be. His unwillingness to speak straight alluding to nothing but the fact that he was still lying to her, by omission if nothing else. His plea fell on deaf ears. The only things knew believed from everything he said was that he was no friend of New Way- an ejected member, perhaps- and that he was a small fry. A dirty one.

"Why would I ever work with you? You're some random civilian loitering behind a trash bin, what could you possibly know that would help me? I command a company and carry with me the full authority of the Empire; I have no need of you. You will tell me who you are now, or you will tell me later after my men break you. It makes me no difference."
​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Time was up.

She had her chance and now Brandyn had to act. He needed to get to a higher location so he could see anything untoward that might, might, just give him a hint to where The New Way were meeting. Closing his eyes, he focused on the cloak that obscured his Force presence, and let it fall away.

Given that the Imp held a saber, he was sure she was filled in on some of the missing elements of his story immediately.

Brandyn twitched a finger, sending a pile of stacked boxes some five or so metres behind the woman falling to the ground. In that moment, he also jumped, feet landing on a fire escape above, while his hands grappled for the ladder.

"It was lovely meeting you," he called back, but did not delay in scrambling up the ladder as he was sure she was capable of pursuit.

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

A crash sounded behind her. She twitched, glancing to find the source of the sound -

And the man jumped, clambering up the fire escape that was hanging above- trying to escape. "It was lovely meeting you," he said, mocking her.

Anger burned through her veins like fire. Fury made the power come easy. She felt darkness licking at her heels and stomped the shadows away. Calm, Zorah. Think of iron, not fire. Iron shaped from wind.

She reached out her hand, fingers splayed wide, and curled them slowly, as if straining against a great weight, into a fist. The fire escape groaned and shuddered as her fist tightening. She pulled harder- she was a Knight, a scion of House Fel, the inheritor of the Emperor's will, and she would not be made a fool of-

The metal bent, twisted, and ripped from the wall to crash to the alley floor. Over the sound of the metallic clatter came the sharp snap and sizzling hiss of her lightsaber flaring to life. The white light shone pure and true over the grime of the alley.

"I don't have time for this."

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The metal beneath his feet began to buckle. Pursuit was something expected, outright destruction of property was not something for which he had prepared. He could have pressed onward, going further up to escape the crumbling metal, but just as he prepared to jump his weighted foot lost purchase on the bending metal panel he was pushing off from.

Instead, Brandyn pushed with his hands, rolled and pushed off the wall on the opposite side of the alley. The metal began to fall below him, so with a push of his hand he moved it backwards a little, giving himself just barely enough room to land back on the ground.

"You don't have time? I was trying to leave...you want to know why I won't answer your questions," he said, standing pulling his saber hilt and with a snap-hiss ignited it, "I am a Jedi in Imperial space."

The alley way was now lit up by the white light of her saber, and the verdant green of his. "The New Way meet in 10 minutes. Neither of us have much time."

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

The man managed to stay on his feet when he fell, landing in a crouch. Zorah arched her brow, regarding him with shrewd eyes. He'd used the Force. She had felt it.

"You don't have time? I was trying to leave...you want to know why I won't answer your questions," he said, standing pulling his saber hilt and with a snap-hiss ignited it, "I am a Jedi in Imperial space. The New Way meet in 10 minutes. Neither of us have much time."

It was like everything stopped. She had no words, at first, only thoughts, blazing through her mind like a thousand swoop bikes. He was a Jedi? Why didn't he just say that? Why the con? And if he truly was a Jedi, how widespread was the New Way that his investigation had led him here? Where was his backup? Did he had a Master? A Padawan?

And again-

Why didn't he just say that?!

But when the words were there and ready to said, she couldn't get them out- couldn't squeeze them passed her clenched teeth, grinding, grinding, grinding-

"You idiot!"

She focused on the information he'd let slip, willing her anger away. The meet was in ten minutes. At a walking pace, the building was about twenty minutes away; at a Knight's pace, she could be there in two. The Jedi was an idiot...but in hindsight, she couldn't blame him for being wary, though she would certainly blame him for eschewing his honor to attempt to lie to her. Twice now, her fellow knights had made war against the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi Order.

But not her. She comm'd the two Recon troopers.

<"Change of plans. Follow my position...and keep up as best as you can.">

She deactivated her saber, clipped it to her belt, and gave the Jedi a long, scathing look before she spoke. "You're a fool of a Jedi and you're in over your head. Stay out of my way. I don't need your help." I have the might of the Empire with me.

​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

With her blade retracted, Brandyn flicked his switch also. The alleyway was plunged back into darkness. Brandyn took a moment to readjust his garments, twisted a bit by his descent from the falling fire escape, and clip his saber hilt back on his belt.

"You idiot!"

Hands and eyebrows shot up in outrage. "There you go again," he said, exasperated, "you really are a piece of work."

To Brandyn's relief, at least the goon-squad was called off. His hands dropped down and he offered a nod of appreciation, but then she dropped the bomb.

"You're a fool of a Jedi and you're in over your head. Stay out of my way. I don't need your help."

"Whoa...whoa...whoa," he said, index finger up as if to tut-tut, "slow your speeder there lady. You needed my help to know when. And you are going to help with where, because you clearly have some idea. Then after observing the meeting...we share intel. I have been investigating The New Way for five months. And yes..." He shrugged in self-deprecation, "...I am somehow still alive."

| Zorah Fel |​

 

[Zorah Fel]

Temperance City | Nyriaan | Imperial Space
Brandyn Sal-Soren

​

"Whoa...whoa...whoa," he said, index finger up as if to tut-tut, "slow your speeder there lady. You needed my help to know when. And you are going to help with where, because you clearly have some idea. Then after observing the meeting...we share intel. I have been investigating The New Way for five months. And yes..." He shrugged in self-deprecation, "...I am somehow still alive."

Zorah scoffed. Simply being alive was considered a success. How mediocre.

“Then it sounds like you need me.” And she wasn’t about to share intel with this fool, Jedi or not.

“Five months, you’ve been investigating the New Way, and you’ve managed what, exactly? I’ve been on Nyriaan for all of a few hours and I’m minutes away from rooting out one of their major hubs for agents in the sector.”

It wasn’t a boast. Not from Zorah; only a statement of fact. She turned away, swept her cape behind her, and stalked away. She wouldn’t make a fuss if he followed— there had to be some sort of competence hidden behind his scruffy face— but she certainly wasn’t about to invite him along. As far as she was concerned, he was an operational hazard.

<“Captain, start moving in.”>
​