C O R P O R A T E
D I P L O M A C Y
Outer Rim Territories
Planet: Mirial
Safe Zone Aurek
As each Councilor took their turn carving away at the man in their midst, Tertius began to feel less like a guest and instead more like a specimen under close examination. An insect with its wings pinned down and its thorax nailed into place.
Darth Caedes remained at the periphery, unmoving and implacable, his cards yet held close to the chest. Golden eyes drifted slowly across the room, listening and observing each speaker in turn, studying his peers one after the other, a slight scowl causing the edges of his lips to fall. Of them all,
Lirka Ka
seemed most at home in conflict, her words scathing and inflammatory, aiming to knock her opponent off guard in order that she might take the advantage.
Elmindra Xitaar
preferred similar tactics in her own dealings, he reminisced, approaching diplomacy as she would a lightsaber duel. Yet so often those very same dealings devolved into bloodshed and the creation of long-lasting enemies. Caedes, for his part, had always preferred a more subtle approach.
Taeli Raaf
evaluated the matter as might a business woman with a contract in hand: measured, just skeptical enough, de-escalating, yet unmistakably curious about the plea's potential exchange value. By stark contrast,
Gerwald Lechner
reduced the conversation to bare-bones-principle, simplifying and stripping away any clever rhetoric until only a kind of righteous judgment remained. It was
Quinn Varanin
who surprised him most, however, dismantling their specimen's convenient "returning home" narrative for what it was: desperation in the wake of repeated failures. He eyed her, face implacable, then shifted to observe
Srina Talon
with a mildly approving expression.
Then, almost idly, his gaze returned to the petitioner.
Tertius C. Nargath
performed a level of confidence he did not truly possess. That much was obvious to a shrewd observer, and all the more clear in the way the Force positively trembled around him. Performative efforts notwithstanding, the body betrayed what his admittedly smooth oration meant to conceal; a wincing, milky-blind eye, tension in the jaw, all the subtle imbalances indicative of a man in distress and under pressure.
It was that eye which drew Caedes' attention most, that singular fracture in the man's symmetry. And not merely because of the physical oddity it represented (though it
was odd as far as such blemishes went), but because of how the Force seemed to move through it and around it; as if, almost, it were its own unique entity, altogether detached from the feeble man. Interestingly, he could be sure that this
Tertius was one of the more deprived and wretched individuals he'd ever encountered with regards to Force sensitivity, altogether. Truly, few were as
disconnected and utterly cut off as this man before him. Yet that eye held secrets within it, catching his attention with a heady sense of familiarity. Where had he seen such an eye before?
Odacer-Faustin, it occurred to him. In the
infected, in the eyes of the dead which roamed there. Abruptly, Caedes felt the fog of
Déjà vu overcome him. The light headed and skin tingling extra awareness which seemed always to precede an oncoming
vision. The Force beckoned and, powerless before it, the world seemed to slip out from under him. Caedes surrendered to it, let the flow take him into its current.
The chamber of Mirial unraveled before him, like fingers pulling apart a spider-web, revealing some sterile place. Bright, florescent light cut across polished metal and glass surfaces. The scent of antiseptic and ozone momentarily replaced that of the Mirialan chamber's whiskey and wood. Rows of large containment cylinders lined the walls, each looming vat filled with vaguely humanoid shapes, curled in upon themselves, suspended in an off-white
amniotic fluid. Before him, his back turned to Caedes, stood a figure alone. A hulking man encased in the folds of a satin cape, with silver-grey hair. A sick man, Caedes intuited. The
The Lord of Hunger
he'd faced on Brosi, only now made smaller for his lack of armor and humanized features.
Credius. The thought came to him, unbidden.
Credius Nargath.
Projected in hologram around the man was a scrolling star chart, densely annotated, with certain systems highlighted and their relevant hyperspace routes marked and calculated for use. Searching for something, for
someone. Further, realization dawned upon Caedes as he studied the systems under scrutiny;
Ninn,
Cadomai,
Ruuria,
Mirial. He was searching the galaxy's North-Eastern reaches, near the Holy Worlds, nearby to where the Diarchy's collapsing territory now decayed and cannibalized.
Then, just as quickly as it had come on, the vision fell away. Caedes stood once more in the Mirialan chamber, surrounded by his peers, the Empress, and the apparent grand-nephew of the very much alive Credius Nargath. Caedes' posture remained unchanged, expression serene in its portrayal of a mild and distracted dissatisfaction. No tensing nor jolt betrayed his revelation, no catching breath nor clenching fingers. Nothing save for the faintest trickle of new understanding betwixt himself and the Lady Talon, an almost unconscious application of the telepathic connection they'd established over time.
Tertius Nargath was not alone within himself. Not possessed either, not exactly, nor controlled in the direct or immediate sense. Yet unmistakably altered by the will and work of a far greater being, as evidenced in that hazey, dead eye.
Presently, the princess leaned into a smile, brushing back locks of her hair in an almost sardonic gesture of mock civility.
"People are always at their most honest when they run out of options," she said.
"Will this be the case for you?"
Caedes' hand raised as if to dismiss the young Varanin's rhetorical question.
"He lives," Caedes confirmed, simply.
"Your great uncle, Credius Nargath," he explained.
"Though as for the how, I'm sure your guess is as good as mine."
Glancing first at his Empress, Caedes stepped forward to address their little specimen.
"You ask to return," he said, voice like dry leaves crushed beneath the boot.
"You ask to reclaim what you have lost. You beg of us information. You admit your history with troublesome non-compliance. You speak of war as business, yet you cannot seem to win against us. You champion a grandfather and a father, yet they are not here. Are you then not, by your own telling, an unwise investment?"
He gestured off-handedly to Quinn.
"To Councilor Varanin's point, your plea before us today reeks of desperation; and this as the Imperial Conglomerate and the Diarchy's late Empire, your clientele, lay wasting in their death throes."
Caedes raised an outstretched finger before his face, head cocking to one side.
"You seem, to me, proficient in the arts of begging and self sacrificing compromise," Caedes said, showing his teeth.
"You have asked for what the Order might grant you," he explained.
"What you have not yet offered to us..." gaze alternating between Tertius' left and right eyes, "... is why we should."
All information divined in this post was the result of conversation
and the subsequent permission of
Tertius C. Nargath