Keter
The Renegade
Immeria, the planet of winds. A small rock far from prying eyes, it was the home of Keter Mason. Renegade. Sith. Traitor. Father. He had worn many masks in his time, and he would continue to wear many more for years to come. It was his nature. Elliot Barnabus rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks in his muscles as he leaned back in the chair, his feet propped up on the meeting table. His hair was turning greyer with each passing year, and unwelcome reminder of his age. Fifty was sliding away from him, and sixty was slowly looming. He should have been a grandfather now, and long retired. Not still running around like a member of the Sith Army, as he had at the age of twenty. He was getting old. They all were. He could see it in the way they moved.
Rooks was a clone with advnaced ageing, so he already appeared far older than his two decades of life required. He had taken to walking with a cane, and rarely chose to go without his armour and helmet, a reminder of the days he had commanded a Legion. Those days were long gone, those lifes all lost. Keter had thrown it all aside for her. And although Rooks had followed orders, and understood the man's decision, he had never quite forgiven him. Barnabus sighed. He knew a thing or two about being unforgiven. He had never forgiven himself after Korriban, after the Dathomir assault. Slevin was sat next to him, the towering clone always a full head taller than him, just as Keter had ordered. An engineered abberration, Slevin had been a clone trooper who had undergone extensive modification under Keter's orders. He was the seventh out of a batch of ten. He was the only one who had managed to survive so long. But he had taken to his new role of custodian of Keter's daughters with great enthusiasm. Much more than Barnabus had managed to muster up.
He missed his daughter. The old soldier crushed those memories before they arose again, letting his eyes move on to the last figure in the room. K-36215. The eldest member of Keter's retinue, the machine that had been with him from the start. A weird blend of protocol and assassin droid, K (as Feena Mason had come to call him) had always proven himself useful and friendly, and Barnabus was proud to call the droid his friend. He smiled soflty to himself. How things had changed. The doors hissed open and Keter strode in, interupting Barnabus' thoughts. The blond knight stood straight backed as he always did, as if ever on parade or on stage. HIs cold red eyes swept the room, and his face softened as he smiled at them, his family.
"Good to see you all again," he started with a nod. Barnabus nodded back, wondering what went on in the blond's mind. The young man was...not altogether there. But that is what made it so interesting to work for him. "I'll be brief. Since our application was processed and approved, our little...organisation has made nary a move. Suggestions?"
Ah, so that was it. Keter was bored. Barnabus folded his arms across his chest as Rooks spoke. "As always, the chief goal should be expansion. Resources are needed. To obtain them, we need to earn some start up capital, and establish a reputation," the clone commander outlined bluntly. Keter nodded his assent to the veteran's opinion.
"I have considered that issue, and wish to utilise an asset we have not truly been considering," the force user explained, taking a seat. "Zandra."
Barnabus snorted despite himself. "That street walker? Exactly what kind of outfit you trying to run, boss?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Brining Zandra anywhere near Dis would be...bad. Feena would murder them for exposing the girls to that woman.
"She has social talents, though they may be rough shod. She is also the perfect deniable asset. Who would imagine her to be a threat?" Keter countered with a polite smile, falling into scheming mode. Barnabus wanted to roll his eyes. "But Rooks' point still stands. We would need a few more folks to expand our operations. In order to garner interest, we better come up with something....interesting to catch attention." Now Barnabus groaned. Keter loved performing for a crowd. He was ridiculously dramatic, but that made everything a tad more fun than when he had been in the army.
The commando rubbed his eyes as he looked up at his boss. "What do you have in mind?"
Rooks was a clone with advnaced ageing, so he already appeared far older than his two decades of life required. He had taken to walking with a cane, and rarely chose to go without his armour and helmet, a reminder of the days he had commanded a Legion. Those days were long gone, those lifes all lost. Keter had thrown it all aside for her. And although Rooks had followed orders, and understood the man's decision, he had never quite forgiven him. Barnabus sighed. He knew a thing or two about being unforgiven. He had never forgiven himself after Korriban, after the Dathomir assault. Slevin was sat next to him, the towering clone always a full head taller than him, just as Keter had ordered. An engineered abberration, Slevin had been a clone trooper who had undergone extensive modification under Keter's orders. He was the seventh out of a batch of ten. He was the only one who had managed to survive so long. But he had taken to his new role of custodian of Keter's daughters with great enthusiasm. Much more than Barnabus had managed to muster up.
He missed his daughter. The old soldier crushed those memories before they arose again, letting his eyes move on to the last figure in the room. K-36215. The eldest member of Keter's retinue, the machine that had been with him from the start. A weird blend of protocol and assassin droid, K (as Feena Mason had come to call him) had always proven himself useful and friendly, and Barnabus was proud to call the droid his friend. He smiled soflty to himself. How things had changed. The doors hissed open and Keter strode in, interupting Barnabus' thoughts. The blond knight stood straight backed as he always did, as if ever on parade or on stage. HIs cold red eyes swept the room, and his face softened as he smiled at them, his family.
"Good to see you all again," he started with a nod. Barnabus nodded back, wondering what went on in the blond's mind. The young man was...not altogether there. But that is what made it so interesting to work for him. "I'll be brief. Since our application was processed and approved, our little...organisation has made nary a move. Suggestions?"
Ah, so that was it. Keter was bored. Barnabus folded his arms across his chest as Rooks spoke. "As always, the chief goal should be expansion. Resources are needed. To obtain them, we need to earn some start up capital, and establish a reputation," the clone commander outlined bluntly. Keter nodded his assent to the veteran's opinion.
"I have considered that issue, and wish to utilise an asset we have not truly been considering," the force user explained, taking a seat. "Zandra."
Barnabus snorted despite himself. "That street walker? Exactly what kind of outfit you trying to run, boss?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Brining Zandra anywhere near Dis would be...bad. Feena would murder them for exposing the girls to that woman.
"She has social talents, though they may be rough shod. She is also the perfect deniable asset. Who would imagine her to be a threat?" Keter countered with a polite smile, falling into scheming mode. Barnabus wanted to roll his eyes. "But Rooks' point still stands. We would need a few more folks to expand our operations. In order to garner interest, we better come up with something....interesting to catch attention." Now Barnabus groaned. Keter loved performing for a crowd. He was ridiculously dramatic, but that made everything a tad more fun than when he had been in the army.
The commando rubbed his eyes as he looked up at his boss. "What do you have in mind?"