Family Dinner (Shorns)

[Gorba the Hutt]

The invitations were sent. One for Tycho. One for Mikhail. Seth was deemed dead or gone, Kasperli scarcely cared which. the boy was a disappointment. All of them were, but that would soon change.

The High Lord of House Melantha seated himself at the head of the dinner table. Inside his massive home, more a fortress than a mansion, few could reach him without his consent. Few indeed. The table was set for three. Himself, Tycho, and Mikhail. His blonde-haired nephew had proven himself capable of infiltrating the Templar Order. That would be useful. But it was upon Mikhail that Kasperli's favor lay. His son was one of the most powerful Sith Lords in the galaxy now. He had toppled an Emperor and done things with the Force that Kasperli could never hope to achieve. If only he had a... different temperament. He could have been something without Kasperli's direct interference. Alas, he would have to get his hands in the mud with the rest of them.

No food ladened the plates. Not yet. He expected the arrival of the two boys momentarily. Tycho would come because he wished to redeem himself. Mikhail would come looking for a fight. Kasperli was prepared for this. No doubt his son would try to kill him. Expected. The sins of the father and all. His mouth sat sternly, not hinting at the smile in his heart.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Tycho arrived first. Gold armor peeked out from white robes. He appeared more angel than demon, but appearances could be deceiving. Hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword he passed by Melanthan House Guards whose stone faces showed no warm reception. No, Tycho did not think he would be getting any sort of pleasant welcome from his Uncle Kasperli. An Uncle who had exiled him. The taint upon his honor still stung. He had spent a long time trying to wash it out. But it was there, a black mark on his record as sure as the day he'd gotten it. He saw it in the faces of the nobles he passed. They ignored him.

Once fallen from grace, returning to their serene society was nigh impossible. Tycho kept up a cheery smile, despite the crushing weight upon his chest. He found his uncle seated at the head of a grand dinner table. Kasperli's adamantine face was stern and thinly lipped. Ah, there was that disappointed expression. Just as he remembered it.

"Sit," Kasperli commanded.

Tycho smiled. "Of course, Uncle. Where shall I seat myself?"

The Melanthan High Lord ground his teeth audibly and pointed to the chair. Of course. The left-hand seat. Not the right hand. Mikhail was Kasperli's son, after all, however estranged the two might be. Tycho tried not to let the wound to his pride show through the affable facade, but he knew by the slight uplift to Kasperli's mouth that it had.

"What are we to eat, Uncle? Have you slaughtered the fatted calf for your son's return?"

At that, Kasperli's lips did quirk up. The expression terrified Tycho. "Yes."

A dark, powerful presence entered the peripheral of Tycho's senses. He sat rigid in his chair.

The High Lord's mouth returned to a droll, flat line. "My son has arrived."

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail stalked into the dining room, features a half inch away from pure rage. It had been a long time since he had been back in the Melantha Province. Back then his father had been just another noble. Now he was the High Lord. Mikhail hoped one of the people he'd stomped over in his path to leadership would assassinate Kasperli. His father deserved to die, but whatever people might think Mikhail was not a stone cold killer. He didn't have it in him to kill the man who had raised him, despite what he had done. Oh yeah, Mikhail hated him, but as he walked into the room - fully intending on ripping his father's throat out - his eyes settled on his father's stern features and he realized... he could never do it. Not like this.

Smirking, Mikhail took a seat. He looked from Tycho to Kasperli. "Well look at this. The whole family back together again. Isn't that sweet?" Eyes as cold as Hoth settled on Kasperli. "What the hell do you want from me?"

Kasperli steepled his fingers. "Am I not allowed to see my heirs?"

A glance at Tycho revealed the man smiling tightly, a little uneasy. Mikhail's gaze returned to Kasperli. "Like hell. What do you want?"

"Business will come later, boy," Kasperli said with iron politeness. "First, we dine."

Shorn gritted his teeth, but fell silent. The servants brought out plates of food and they began to eat in silence. Mikhail ate his finely cooked meat without hesitation. He was hungry and he knew it wasn't poisoned. His father was a lot of things, but he would never violate the code of the nobility, which dictated that the murder of a family member or guest in one's own home was worthy of exile and in some cases execution. Kasperli would bend the rules, but never overtly break them. He took pride in that. Mikhail just thought he was an idiot. Sith weren't like that. A Sith would invite all his worst enemies to his home, then lock the doors and slaughter them all. He supposed he should be thankful for his father's sense of honor.

He wasn't.

Grabbing a goblet, Mikhail gulped down a mouthful before tasting the strange coppery texture of the too smooth liquid that looked as red as wine. He spewed a mouthful across the dinner table, causing Tycho to look up in consternation and his father to raise an eyebrow.

"What the kriff is this?"

Tycho frowned and looked at his drink, perplexed. "Uncle? Is this... blood?"

The reply chilled Mikhail's spine.

"Yes."

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Kasperli glanced over to the House Guard at the door and nodded. A half-second later he felt his connection to the Force disappear. Both Mikhail and Tycho's eyes widened simultaneously. Mikhail stood, knocking back his chair. Tycho rose more slowly, hand wavering over his sword's hilt.

"Uncle, what is this trickery?"

Sky blue eyes looked between them. "Ysalamiri."

Mikhail swore, then stumbled back. "What.... what did you do to me?"

White robes rustled as Tycho swayed where he stood, wearing a frown of confusion. Kasperli tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Both of you have been drugged with a fast active sedative in the food. You will retain consciousness, but lose muscle control." He stood, grabbing the goblet near his plate. "In this cup is blood. My blood. You are both half Garhoon. I see the questions in your eyes, the confusion."

Kasperli walked over to where Mikhail had sat down on the floor, he forced him to drink the crimson contents. Then he moved over to Tycho, who had seated himself with some dignity but was clearly incapable of moving. Tycho drank more readily, eyes accusatory but also curious. Kasperli slammed the goblet onto the table.

"The Garhoon genetics inside of each of you have yet to be activated. They can only be turned on by drinking the blood of a humanoid. You will experience a week of excruciating agony and misery unlike anything you have felt before. At the end of the week your body will have completed the metamorphosis into full Garhoon. You will crave blood and human flesh. You will find yourself faster, stronger and capable of extraordinary healing abilities. You might think that you will kill me when you come out of your stupor. You are wrong. Since it is my blood which you drank you will be under my compulsion. My word will be your command."

Kasperli surveyed them, the first twitches of the change starting as their bodies began to shudder. "You will both be sent back to your homes. Tycho will return to the Confederacy. Mikhail you will.... be put adrift in your star craft. You will go on with your lives, but you will answer to me. I am now truly the patriarch of this family... and you will obey me."