Famous Last Words

[Keira Priest]

Echoy'la​

Throne Room​

​

To say things hadn't gone as planned would be an understatement. They had gone against the orders of everyone present and made landfall within the designated kill zone, attempting to detain the designated target rather than blasting her into oblivion, not that the latter strategy had done much good, as the interloper had escaped regardless. Their escape off planet had been just as tenuous a process as that of their enemy, with [member="Zephyr Carrick"] losing an arm. It was better than losing his life, and all told Keira was of the opinion that things had gone much better than they could have. But her brother didn't share the same outlook, and so she and the others involved had been summoned before their Mand'alor.

It wasn't something she was necessarily concerned about. In her mind, they had all been entirely justified in what they did. Sure, they went against orders, but in the grand scheme of things it was the strategy that made the most sense to her. Still, even she knew when to come to a heel, and so she would abide by her brother's orders and stand before him as one of the vode. Whatever punishment he would dole out to them she would accept. But she knew he wouldn't exile or otherwise hinder his best fighters. He couldn't afford it. This was a demonstration of power, and she respected that wholeheartedly. A leader needed to show they were not to be trifled with, even when it came to their own people.

She arrived in the throne room a few minutes early, her clip distinctly militaristic as she came to a stop. Her senses were extended about herself in every direction, taking in her surroundings and the presence her brother radiated through the Force. Like hers his aura was atypical, and she took some kind of solace in that. For the moment there was naught to do but wait for the others to arrive, and she would do so patiently, a first for her. Assuming her brother was present she would look to him, inclining her head slightly in greeting, "Mand'alor." A single word, acknowledging him as her leader rather than brother. It was time to see just how he would handle internal disobedience.

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Vora Kaar]

I really didn't feel like dealing with this. I shouldn't even be standing up, but I forced myself to do so. I felt lopsided. WIthout having an arm made it very difficult for me to get dressed. Almost all of my clothes that were meant for two arms, would have the right sleeve hanging and swaying in the breeze or following me like a trail. I was so, upset. Just the idea that I had been so consumed in my emotions, that I went against orders, I thought it was right to go down there and show an example of them. If they went against us, if they stole from us, then we were going to kill them in ways you never thought possible. In the process, I lost a part of myself.

I opted to try and dress myself in just a vest. My arm, or lack of an arm, was covered in bandages. It hurt to move too much. Rubbing the clothing over the bandages made me grimace. My left hand clenched as I was done dressing. Reaching out for my lightsaber, I realized that I couldn't grab it anymore. I didn't have a right hand to grab it with. I felt so... forgotten. I had lost my ability to use my arm. Hell, I can't even feel my arm anymore. Turning around, I grabbed the lightsaber with my left hand, and attached it to my belt on the left side. I shook my head and walked out of the room. Angrier than I was entering it.

I moved along the hallways towards the throne room. All the people I passed knew about what would be happening. They already knew by now that I was the young man who just lost his arm when he had gone against the Manda'lors orders. I knew that there would be some who wanted me to have a harsh punishment, including the fact that I lost my arm, and others who said I had already lost enough. I had to agree with both.

Walking to the doors, I breathed in, closed my eyes for a moment, and exhaled. Looking up, I walked into the throneroom to see that Keira was already there. She was the Sister of the man who stood before me. A man who I had been training under for a bit now. He stood there, and I felt powerless to the situation. I didn't like that feeling, but I guess I deserved it. Standing there, I wanted to support my decision to go against the powers of this man. However, I knew this was the moment to heel.

I stood there silently, waiting for Alkor to join us, waiting for my consequences.

[member="Keira Ticon"], [member="Isley Verd"], [member="Alkor Centaris"],

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Mandalorians observed a curious culture unlike anything that Alkor had truly experienced. While their lifestyle revered strength and honor in a manner Alkor wholly related to, there were subtleties that the Jen'jidai would likely never understand. Strained familial relationships forged like chains between people seemed like unnecessary shackles to a man who had never known the comfort of family. The closest Alkor had ever come to true bonds with others was a Brotherhood, but even that fell woefully short of what Mandalorians called their "clans."

Mutual respect was something wholly different from kinship. The intricacies of their connection was an anomaly in the Force- subtle, near fractures that pulsated eagerly as he first laid eyes on them. The darkness growled low as it flowed around them, coiled like a snake, and slithered back to Alkor. It hinted that something deeper connected all of them. Most adepts never perceived in the Force things that came to the Corellian naturally. Most would never have gleaned that these three Mandalorians were somehow intertwined in the thread of fate.

Alkor deigned not to broach the subject.

His even steps echoed through the hall, eerily silent as the threat of Mand'alor's judgment hung over present company. While he was an outsider, aruteii as he recalled the word, the prospect was no less daunting. He was not one to submit idly to anything. Alkor came before [member="Isley Verd"] to seek understanding, in the way he learned from his master many moons before. To experience was a better teacher even than to simply witness.

No words left his lips as he strode to his spot next to [member="Keira Ticon"] and the broken [member="Zephyr Carrick"]. He met neither of their eyes as he stood with both arms limp at his sides, concealed beneath dark sleeves. He wore a single obvious weapon, as was customary for a Force Adept or a member of any warrior culture. Disarmament meant disrespect, not reverence. To presume peace inferred that one imagined their company weak, with no value on the battlefield. He came armed not as an affront to the Warrior King, but as a sign that he acknolwedged the man as a worthy combatant.

Alkor did not know Isley. He knew who he was. He knew what he had wrought with his machinations of Imperialism. That feat alone marked him as respectable. Even if Alkor fundamentally disagreed with leadership, he knew there was much to be said for a man who could unite the divided under a single banner. It was a task fit for few.

He bowed his head slightly, not so low as a subject might before a monarch, but the way a fighter would to acknowledge another. It was more respect than he afforded most men in the galaxy.

It fell to Verd to speak first.

 

[Darth Metus]

Troubled is the Brow...

To say that the Mand'alor found no joy in the present was an understatement. Very recent history had exposed something among his people — a weakness within his very chain of command. It was enough that a woman he trusted, blood of his blood defied his will. It was enough that his apprentice, the successor to his knowledge, deviated from his teachings. It was enough to put their lives, Mandalorian lives in danger...There had to be consequences. Yet, these were souls precious to the Sole Ruler. This were his sister, a woman who commanded his respect so much that she earned a place in his family. This was his apprentice, a young man whose fire reminded him of himself.

Thus did Isley fret, but nevertheless were they summoned before his throne. He, clad not in beskar'gam due to the hour, sat hunched forward. His gaze was...many parts tired yet also frustrated. And his presence? A stark contrast. The radiance of this dilemma could be felt with every step: as if drawing ever closer to a literal inferno. Mand'alor the Reclaimer found no joy in the present. None whatsoever.

When finally all three had mustered, as the known loose cannon had been excluded from this audience, Isley took a moment to assess [member="Zephyr Carrick"]. He had heard the reports — a viciously wounded arm...but to see it with his own two eyes? It felt like a frigid stone had been dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"Keira. Zephyr." he began, acknowledging them in an even tone. Then his gaze slid to Alkor, a man he had yet to encounter. According to the reports, he had saved Zephyr's skin...and fought on behalf of their people. Despite a grievous deviation of his Will, the man still fought the Mandalorian fight. He saved a Mandalorian life. For thus was he called – not for consequence, but gratitude. "And you...what is your name?" His inquiry was coupled with a similar nod of acknowledgment: one warrior to another.

He permitted time for Alkor to answer before finalizing his thoughts. Despite who they were, actions had consequences...Isley began to speak, yet his words did not form and fall from his lips. No. They came as a telepathic hiss which initially sounded exclusively within Keira's psyche. She was his sister, and in the privacy of their bond, he would treat her as thus. He. Let. Her. Have. It. After a literal tsunami of "what the kark were you thinking?" and "what if you had died? What then?!" Isley ceased his physically-silent rant.

He then turned his gaze upon Zephyr...but an angry hiss was not what echoed in his mind. "I failed you. It was my place to show you that the Force is a Tool...but also...all that comes with it. It was my place to show you how not to be ruled by instinct or a thirst for glory; but rather to harness it for the better. Now you have suffered...Now you are broken...We have both failed."

Finally. Isley rose from his throne. His boots thudded mightily upon the polished floor until he was within arm's reach of his apprentice.

"Traditional Empires demand demotion for insubordination." he began, transitioning his gaze between the two. "Yet we are the furthest thing from traditional, aren't we? In lieu of marring the achievements you've mustered thus far...I demand that you restore your honor in my eyes."

"When I faltered. When I strayed. I was made to act as the, put bluntly, servant of the forge father Ijaat. My station meant nothing, my achievements meant nothing, and only then could I restore my honor."

"So for you, Keira. You will serve our Aunt Teras in her beskar forge. Until the next, New Moon will your sentence be — unless she deems your performance dishonest."

"And you, Zephyr...You have suffered already for your mistake. In truth, I want to say that your loss is sufficient; but you must restore your honor as well. For you, a Hunt is in order. There are many monsters – creatures of the Sith, the natives of Dxun, and so on. You will hunt one down and bring its remains to me..."

"...As you are now. Without prosthetics."

Thus was his Judgment.

"Now then, please inform me what the Hell possessed the two of you to dive into a Kill Zone?" he said, before looking to Alkor.

"And you...For saving my apprentice, you have my thanks. Sincerely. Yet I must ask, how did you come to be fighting our fight?"

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Zephyr Carrick"], [member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

The telepathic scolding was endured without complaint, the only sign of something out of place being the muscles of her jaw taughtening. Wordlessly Keira bowed her head in acceptance, and some kind of deference to the authority he held as their Mand'alor. Physical labor was nothing new for her, and some part of her looked forward to the exertion, if just to prove something to herself and her brother. It was her spitfire Corellian attitude, wanting to take something like this and turn it into a way to better herself and prove a point. "Understood. Consider it done." She wouldn't disappoint him again. After all, this was her brother and Mand'alor, so unlike most others his opinion actually mattered to her.

When next he spoke [member="Isley Verd"] sounded more like the sibling she knew. "I'd like to point out that making landfall wasn't entirely my idea, this time around." There was no doubt she had made her fair share of poor decisions, but that hadn't been one of them. "Zephyr and Alkor were going down with Saverok, and I figured someone needed to play babysitter after what happened on Yaga Minor. As far as I know the plan was to capture the trespasser so she could stand some kind of judgement. It's obvious at this point things didn't work out." She would let the others speak their own case, but that was hers, laid out plain and simple.

There was no doubt in her mind she would be hearing about things from the others as well, not that it bothered her. Thalia would have her own lecture to give, and she knew full well Aunt Teras would have her own commentary to provide. If there was one thing she was beginning to form a love-hate relationship with when it came to the Mandalorians, it was how tightly-knit they were, and how information traveled so quickly across those bonds. Because there were certain things better left unsaid, this being one of them. But she fully accepted her penance, knowing it was just and well-deserved. It was only fair.

[member="Zephyr Carrick"], [member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Vora Kaar]

The man spoke with a very dignified tone. Upset, angry even, but over all, sad. Sad to see myself and Keira there before him after disobeying orders. I felt like an idiot, and would accept any punishments that would befall me. It was his judgement that shouldn't be questioned by his apprentice at this time. I payed severely for what I had done. I had lost my honor. Now I had to go and gain it back. Keira was to serve the Beskar Smiths, and I was to hunt down a creature on Dxun, and bring proof of the kill. I was nodding when I heard Keira speak up. She said that she wasn't part of this, and decided to throw us under the bus, and only joined to keep us in line.

I was so tempted to just grab my saber and fight her one handed. I was to tempted to send her flying across the room with the force. I was very tempted to just utter the words of how she was throwing us under the bus. However, I kept my head still. I didn't move. I didn't react to it. I simply let it go.

"Understood."

There was no point for me to inquire any further. I would leave when dismissed, and would wait to hear about Alkor, and my mentor talk about his own punishment. Which, he very likely was going to get one. What it was, I had no clue. Right now, I was more focused on what creature I was going to kill in order to earn back my honor that I had lost.

Instead, I clenched my fist, and held my tongue. Just thinking.

[member="Keira Ticon"], [member="Isley Verd"], [member="Alkor Centaris"],

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"Alkor Centaris," he answered when Mand'alor asked his name, but he fell silent immediately thereafter.

He listened as Isley addressed [member="Zephyr Carrick"] and [member="Keira Ticon"], and he damned them to various punishments based on their foolishness and insubordination. Zephyr took to the news without enthusiasm; but more than that, he seethed in silent anger as he knew his decision had been a faulty one. It was important that he learned to swallow his pride in the face of a decision. Alkor did not submit to the same authority that they did, but he understood how feudalistic hierarchy worked. The word "understood" was so hollow, so full of discontent and sour that even one without the Force could sense the tension. He glanced quietly at the youth and tilted his head slightly as the curious amount of enmity permeated the boy. There was great potential there, but he would need to learn to focus what he felt rather than falling prey to it.

The Dark Jedi Master assumed that [member="Isley Verd"] would have something more to say to his apprentice, but the Corellian woman interrupted. She spoke in passive aggressive defense of her actions, quick to displace the blame toward anyone but herself. She called herself a babysitter, and trivialized their actions as wanton stupidity. The Corellian Exile snapped his gaze toward the woman and watched her intensely for several long lasting seconds.

Isley then spoke and asked how he came to join their fight. "Saverok suggested an alliance with the Mandalorians, due to his own affiliation. There was merit to that, so I accompanied him to the Echoy'la to speak with you. We stopped on the ship for clearance. The boy," he gestured toward Zephyr, "made a decision to land and launch an attack. It was a warrior's decision and a respectable one, whether or not he knew the ramifications of his actions. I was not going to let him walk alone into the fire."

Alkor folded his arms. "I do not know the circumstances surrounding all of it, but you should know that he was motivated by honor."

"Once, my brothers fought alongside the Mandalorians in battle. They have rested for..." his breath caught on his lips for a moment before he expelled it. "...too long. In their memory, I came to assess the possibility of friendship between the Dark Jedi and Mandalorians. May the Force serve you and set you free."

 

[Darth Metus]

The order of Keira's words suggested one thing, while the order of Alkor's suggested another. Zephyr was...he was exercising one of the skills that would serve him well on the path to Mastery. Restraint. Only a blind man would miss the fact that the words of Isley's sibling had struck a nerve; most likely the word "babysitter." "Keira..." Isley said her name in the midst of an exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. "I respect your instincts. Hell, the Republic would be a crater if not for them. But in this case...when something is marked for death from karking above, stick to the operation. Babysitting be damned."

His gaze then slid to the Dark Jedi.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] had something rather interesting to say about how he had come to join their fight. Yet when it came to the subject of [member="Zephyr Carrick"], Isley had but two words to say. "I know." This was punctuated by the folding of his arms. "Zephyr is...much like I was at his age. He is driven by a fire that many will envy, but that very same inferno can singe rationality."

He chewed over the information, considering the pieces that Keira and Alkor had provided him.

"As his ranking Blooded, it fell upon Saverok to have been the brick wall between Zephyr and that facility. Keira had the luxury of sharing rank with Zef and Deneve - an issue that will be addressed at the next gathering of the Rayshe'a. But Saverok...he should have known better. He had orders."

Saverok would have to be addressed after this.

"As for said possibility...in light of your willingness to walk into the fire alongside my apprentice...I don't see a reason that friendship cannot be rekindled once again." This statement heralded a slight shift in the conversation. Away from consequence and onto something better. "And as a...gesture of my willingness to see this alliance reborn, I would welcome you into my own House. I would show my ways and give you a place at my table and family. What say you?"

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Keira Ticon"], [member="Zephyr Carrick"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

It occurred to the Jen'jidai that there may have been more to the offer of kinship than he fully understood.

What would Plaga have said in such circumstances? The ancient behemoth once stood at the helm of all the Dark Jedi Order and wrestled with intergalactic politics like they were nothing. Matters of State came easily to men like C'thulu Plaga, William Reign, and Walja Clibos. Their gift for words was rivaled only by the tenacity with which they approached every waking hour. His fallen master would have sought to know the fullest spectrum of what friendship with an entity entailed before he made a leap of faith. He would have fought to garner more respect by showing equal respect, and offered gifts to court stronger bonds. These were skills that were not passed to his wayward apprentice.

Alkor was a broken creature in comparison with his more glory bathed brethren. All of them knew battle intimately, and were seeped in the blood of the Order's enemies. The difference between those men and Alkor came in the depth. Plaga had raised him from the ground up for destruction, slaughter, and vengeance. His blades consumed life like a hand over the flame of a candle. His words were few, and his thoughts simple. In battle, there was little he did not comprehend. Seeking an enemy was his art, and their end was his muse. Many beautiful paintings had been scrawled upon fleshy canvas, and many more would join his bonfire of the vanities.

His eyes were glassed over, milky cerulean as he considered the words of [member="Isley Verd"]. Alkor was not a man to lead nations. He could not speak with Verd as would his master, and he refused to try. His jaw clenched for a moment, then his eyes slipped shut. "I do not know what it means to be family," he admitted, "I have never known a father, and my mother died when I was very young. The closest thing I have ever had was a Dark Jedi Master who honed me as his weapon. He never treated me as his son, and I never ate at the table as his blood children were permitted. I was bestowed the rank of Jen'jidai begrudgingly by men I called brothers who slaughtered each other as I watched. I am not of your people, and I know nothing of your ways. At the very best, I am little more than a liability to you and yours, Isley Verd."

When at last his gaze lifted, Centaris looked over [member="Keira Ticon"] and her elder brother evenly. "If you still find this arrangement acceptable, I will embrace your terms and serve in what capacity I am able."

Your ghost haunts me even now, Plaga, Alkor sighed softly, yours is a heavy legacy to bear.

The lone son of House Plaga knew that the line ended with him. His lessons in the darkness would never pass to a new generation of Dark Jedi. His mastery was the end of a millennia of secrets that would go to the grave with him. There was no more to be found in that place. He had to leave the past behind. If there was a chance at family, at freedom, at meaning-

Alkor Keludarian Centaris had to have it.

I am your apprentice no more.