Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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I, Yuuzhan Vong | One Sith

Actions spoke louder than words, and the first thing the Sith did was react with a measure of the Force when threatened. Ssith were so disgusting to the Dread Lord. Liars and manipulators, they preferred words over war. Even if it meant hacking off your arm to get out of a fight.

Only the insane Yuuzhan Vong in the crowd would join Reverance in his laughter, as well as his brainwashed Yun'do. Only those who could feel the Force would know something was awry with Tsavong.

To the rest of them, he raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

"Have a seat, human," his voice boomed with bass. "Escalation can be quite taxing on... inferior vessels."

Tsavong rolled his finger in a circle next to his head, making kookoo eyes while looking at the crowd and whistling.
 
"Arkanian and Kiffar. Can't you tell?" He smiled as he waved to his complexion, the vibrant flutter of the embers highlighting the genetic dominance of Kiffar to his Arkanian heritage. "But I wouldn't expect a myrshavong to know the difference." That one did get a boom of laughter as he stood against the flame, flexing his phantom palm against his real one. The cauterizing of the wound, immediately, left little blood loss beyond what was in the limb. Which is actually pretty substantial, but he was a tough guy, he had lost far more blood in the past and thrived relatively fine. Nevertheless, it seemed that Tsavong was intent on hiding his odd aura.

"Former myrshavong..." He smiled. "Purified now, of course. One way or another, you would divulge how you transitioned from your former state to the one you now hold, including your aura. The Hrosha-Gul deserves to know and your deceit is unbecoming of your station." He tilted his head. "With time..." He exhaled loudly and patted his free hand against his chest. "But until then, we have a planet to completely draw into the folds of Hrosha-Gul...and I have an escalation to complete."

"So if you're done with your mockery and petulant jibes..." He rolled his wrist, as if stimulating the hurried expense of time. "The Vong deserve their due."

[member="Tsavong Kraal"]
 
[member="Hion the Herglic"] | [member="Sasha Santhe"] | [member="Jacen Cavill"] | [member="Selka Ventus"] | [member="Darth Carach"]

Indeed, the Vong did deserve their due. But the corporate powers in the universe had a greatly different opinion of just what that "due" was, as would be explored in holoconference. An image flickered on one of the projectors allocated, and after a few moments the tinted blue visage of Adekos appeared before Hion and the other attendees. It looked like he was the first to arrive.

"There's never a shortage of problems. What is it this time?"
 
ooc/ Apologies, this post is dreadful, trying to catch up. On semi-LOA til saturday





You look towards the lambent fruit and wonder why it wilts upon the branch while we, more inclined towards the big picture, take heed in the overall fruitful harvest.
One hand made its way to rub her temple, the other clenched tight. Did all humans mangle their language so? She was used to the blunt and succinct language of the Warrior caste, not the lengthy and pointless diatribe of the political caste. Her right hand unclenched as the pressure in her head built and it started to reach for her weapon. His droning faded out to background noise as a mist of anger began to descend.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"[/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]I am the Wrath. I know his wishes as well as anyone, but I will speak on behalf of the entirety of the Hrosha-Gul. I will divine his intent and willingness to allow the required independence and inform you, so that we may move forward.[/SIZE][SIZE=10.5pt]" [/SIZE]

Finally, why hadn’t the bloviating cyclops said that to start with? Her hand drafted back away from the arachnostaff that had already started to slither towards her grip in expectation. Then the half-breed roared his challenge, slamming two warriors aside and launching himself across the hall.

Another Shai warrior stepped in front of her, amphistaff drawn and held threateningly. One did not challenge Khallesh Val so easily. Her arachnostaff whipped out, and quicker than its opposing weapon, it wrapped itself around its head and held it fast. Khallesh stepped into the space smoothly as the now familiar bolt of pain shot up her arm. The claw burst forth from the back of her hand, slick black with her blood. It slid under the surprised warrior’s helm and cut straight through the muscle of his neck. He fell away in a bright arterial spray.

Khallesh’ keen eyes turned back and forth. Shapers and other lesser caste members were slinking out of the hall. There was little should could do now. If they were intent on fighting there was little she could do to stop them. No, she had her own battles to fight now. She had defied her own commander and there were only two ways that could end. One of those ways ended with her back with the gods.

The crowds parted before her oddly, before the Huntress saw why.



" We have killed together, Khallesh of Domain Val,

“And that is why I ask: move aside @Vrag. I have greater prey to skewer,” Khallesh held firm, jaw set. The Ssith was only human, but Khallesh had witnessed her in battle before. A night on insurmountable challenge. She couldn’t help the smile form on her face.

Even as events transpired and Reverence and Tsavong returned to words, she held her ground, the tail of her arachnostaff twitching. Glorious death by combat with a worthy opponent would perhaps be a better fate than having to listen to more talk.



[SIZE=9pt] "[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]The Vong deserve their due.[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt]"[/SIZE]
She visibly hardened when she heard that. Only a moment before he’d been proving himself a true member of their faith and then he turned to insulting them again.
 
Orcus chuckled at [member="Adekos"]' comment. It was only polite. He then stopped very abruptly.

"Yes. Our new chum of problems may prove of particular interest to you, Master Umbaran. I have received unconfirmed, but reliable reports that there is a significant gathering of Vong on Selvaris. That coupled with the reviling and rampant increase in vongforming leads me to believe that the time has come for a purge. Miss Ventus?"

[member="Selka Ventus"] | [member="Sasha Santhe"] | [member="Darth Carach"] | [member="Jacen Cavill"]
 

Vrag

The Second Seal, broken.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0609YZx7EMw


She wasn't fond of mincing words, that much was true, but she was even less fond of being ignored. Hierarchy, authority, respect borne of great deeds… all those things mattered to the Sith, and to the Vong. One ruled not by heritage, but by might and merit; it ensured that it was the most capable and the most deserving that steered the tides of battle, that dictated the pace of war and led the armies into battle when the time came for blood to be spilled.

Was it blood o'clock yet?

The rebellious few seemed to think so. Vrag would have begged to differ, were she the type to beg; alas, she never was and never would be, and so instead of letting the whole sad affair dissolve into tautology, the Hand of the Dark Lord opted to put the 's' in front of 'word'.

Her red blade hissed to life without ceremony, a simple and efficient tool that she would use to cut the Subcommander down if it came to that. A pity, perhaps, to lose a warrior as skilled as [member="Khallesh"], but not something she would mourn.

She never mourned anything.

The red eyes glowing in those empty sockets would coldly stare down the huntress, not a single word needed to convey that simple message. The warrior would surely understand. It was the way they lived, after all. They weren't exactly the sort of people to make retirement plans, after all. A small lakeside cottage with a nice view had never been a delusion of theirs, nor was moving out of the city and going back to the earth.

Marriage? As if.

Kids? Don't be ridiculous.

This wasn't some romanticized Disney portrayal of misguided, unfortunate victims of circumstance; they were murderers and villains and they all knew it. They even had the certificates to prove it, signed and stamped by the Dark Lord himself.

It was slightly exasperating, then, that they would choose to do something so foolish, and so openly too, in the face of such indisputable proof. Didn't exactly take a genius to calculate the risks of sedition. Were they banking on greater support from the Vong of Selvaris? Most likely. Would they get it? Not really.

And with a leader like [member="Tsavong Kraal"]; a man that spat on the Force even as it clearly roiled underneath his tattooed flesh… they never would. Hypocrisy and lies do not a ruler make.

"Stand down, Subcommander."

God, that jacuzzi on Teleute would be good right about now. Why'd [member="Reverance"] have to go and cut his arm off? So inconvenient.
 
Reverance said:
"The Vong deserve their due."

Tsavong looked down at Reverance with solemn eyes.

"You gravely insult our people," he said silently, referring to the Sith's use of the shorthand "Vong". It was an insult to do so. "And you continue to surmise what is good for my people, the Hrosha-Gul. Remember, human," Despite being told the man's actual racial heritage, Tsavong was showing zero lack of restraint to insult this pretender. "It was I who brought them to providence, not you. Not your faux-Emperor. Your Throne World would not stand if not for me."

"I owe you nothing. Hrosha-Gul owes you nothing." He glowered, staring at Vrag, to Kellesh, to the Yuuzhan Vong in attendance, then back to the Ssith. He shrugged off these manipulative... lies. "The presence you feel inside of me..."

He kneeled down, gripping the dirt from the bottom of the grashal and wiping it two-fold on his trousers, his bare red chest flush with obsidian tattoos in the dim light.

"Is the presence of the Gods, for I am Al'Khattazz, avatar of their will. I stand here, Yuuzhan Vong, consecrated. And these are my people."

He rolled his massive shoulders and headed for the exit of the grashal, as a large contingency of the Hrosha-Gul would begin to move to leave with him.

"Hrosha-Gul leaves with me."

His voice was heard once more, as the Yuuzhan Vong continued to leave the grashal en masse.

"Times are changing, Pretender. Time to choose a side."

The crowd began to disperse into the night's air, the Yuuzhan Vong leader disappearing with them. This was not the last they would see of them, though, as Tsavong had struck the first blow on the drums of rebellion.

The tempo was sure to hasten the next day.
 
[member="Vrag"]

The palpable tension in the room had started to evaporate into the ether. Khallesh’ blood still ran high as she narrowed her eyes at the Sith before her. Already her mind was thinking of how to approach the fighter. Was it best to go for a razor bug to attempt to throw Vrag’s guard off, or would that compromise her balance and a powerful long range thrust actually be the best way to test the Ssith?

Khallesh lifted her centre of mass a few inches. Almost imperceptible to the eye, but an experienced swordsman would noticed the shift in balance. She was getting ready to strike.

Vrag said:
"Stand down, Subcommander."
If it had been an insult, or even the faintest hint of a challenge, she would have called a war cry and charged across the floor of the Grashal to glory. Instead it was a command. Despite the dissenting elements from with Hrosha-Gul having challenged her viewpoints at every turn, millennia of breeding and forty years of training had hammered several aspects of Yuuzhan Vong culture into her very core. One of these was following orders. Her eyes flicked to her surroundings, noting that all the skirmishes had settled down.

The Huntress shifted her weight onto her back foot. A tense second later and her arachnostaff went limp in her hands. For a moment it reared its head and prepared to spit venom across the gap at Vrag, but Khallsh yanked on it hard and it begrudgingly wrapped itself around her forearm. The stubborn, violent creature still didn’t always heed commands, but they were a close match in her estimation.

She moved her feet, making clear that she was no longer preparing for a fight. “Another time we will have the pleasure, perhaps. I do not leave with Tsavong Kraal,” she explained, “but I am still leaving.”
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlbC-hk25Aw

"That's for the best..." Spoke the one armed Warmaster, through the breath of fire that cast a shadow of his form across the mirrored floor. "His walk will be a lonely one..." He flexed his free arm, clasping the stump with a bit of irritation, as he looked towards [member="Khallesh"]. Odd, he thought, that the exiled warmaster would so easily accept the goading from an obviously ingrained member of the culture. Was Tsavong truly so mentally unstable, to think that the Wrath would attempt to buy loyalty with mocking words? Or that he would forget something so simply part of the culture? Surely not. But it had the intended impact, drawing out a modicum of truth from the heretic who stormed out of the grashal to laughs and jovial acceptance orchestrated and planned.

Did [member="Tsavong Kraal"] truly think he was among members of the original Hrosha-Gul? Perhaps he should have inspected the audience more closely, seen through the teeth and pits of darkness against the light. If he would have, he might have seen that Hrosha-Gul, in its former legacy, did not exist on Selvaris. Only the Legion, standing strong and outwardly stretching. And with a wave of his remaining hand, a member of the warrior caste screamed to those following Tsavong, and they returned with due diligence to the grashal to leave the hulking and rampaging beast to walk out into the fields alone. Another word and they would have spilled the blood of that monstrosity with drawn amphistaff but these were people of honor, something foreign to the dissenter whose struck out in anger and blindness. Because by and large, the Legion were not so simple or fragile to be wounded by a singular word, as the dissenter had obviously been. They weren't here to look for insult in every word but instead, enlisted the notions of change and reason. Perhaps it was their loyalty to Gabriel that drew them back or perhaps it was because the barking vong hybrid had no true direction. Either way, Gabriel had savored the view and shift in the winds as his people, whom had encumbered Selvaris in Yuuzhan Vong presence entirely, returned to the silence and gestures of respect that he was accustomed. The intendant caste, the priest caste, the shaper caste - all bowed their head to the Warmaster and he returned in kind.

They weren't a fickle people - to be deceived by boasting or to be pushed around, one false prophet after another. Gabriel smirked at the notion and cracked his neck, before turning to another commander. They lived on the ground, glory through sacrifice, and this heretical personification of the force mixed with unwashable taint of myrshavong was not their path towards glory but instead, downfall. No amount of shouting in the night, from someone so absent of late, would change that.

"What now?" Yurzhoc Shai approached, cup of sparkbee honey in hand, as he gave it to the one hand remaining. Gabriel tilted his head and sipped, looking somewhat haggardly.

"We finish what we started. This planet..." He looked back around the room. "Will be fully shaped and escalated."

"For the Yuuzhan Vong?" The large man smiled, Stebbles wrapped sleepily around his arm. The warmaster laughed at the obvious jab, wincing at the radiating pain of his arm removed.

"No..." He paused. "For the Yuuzhan Vong and the Legion Yun'Do." He took a sip from the cup and handed it back, recalling the dissenter referring to the Legion as a farce. Fool. "Communicate with the Master Shapers. Inform them I will be arriving momentarily to complete my escalation." He dusted off his armor and looked towards [member="Vrag"] , wondering if she would approve. "Get the Legion going before sunrise, we will begin the process at first light."

He gave a simple smirk as he left the gaze of the large Yuuzhan Vong. "What of the dissenter? Should we crush him!" Yurzhoc was as loud a warrior as any.

Gabriel laughed at the idea of caring about such a figure. "Let the nutrient bogs claim him. If he was looking to start a rebellion...he came to the wrong planet." He waved as he walked out, towards his nuhlrokka - and the grashal returned to business as usual.
 
The Immortal-class Star Dreadnaught Storm's Eye readied for the arrival of Lord Orcus. The bridge held an air of unusual tensity to it, and why should it not? The visit was unexpected. While not holding a pristine title like many other Sith Lords, Orcus had been around since nigh the inception of the One Sith. The Dark Lord himself had resurrected the Herglic from death, if the stories were true.

Captain Tosma drew rigid as the bridge doors slid aside, revealing the massive bulk of the Herglic Sith Lord.

"Lord Orcus," he said, his smile more of a wince, "Welcome aboard, though I must say this visit was highly-"

"Unexpected?" Orcus' voice boomed. Big, black eyes fastened onto Tosma, sizing up the short, balding man. "Of course. All matters of security are. Set a course for these coordinates."

He handed Tosma a datapad. "We leave at once."

"Uhm. Of course, M'lord."

Frowning in thought, Tosma handed off the data pad to a subordinate. "Combat operation?"

"Hmmm, of a sort. We have reason to suspect an attack emerging from that area. A large pirate fleet, perhaps. The intelligence remains unclear. Perhaps it will be an uneventful patrol. Nevertheless, we should be prepared. Hauum. We have many enemies who would see us in ruins."

"Ah, yes. We'll be on our way momentarily. Was this -"

"Authorized through the Admiralty? No."
Damn. Tosma hated how Sith could do that. Read minds.

Orcus smiled as if in response. It wasn't pleasant. Tosma paled. "I see..."

"No. You don't," rumbled the Herglic, slapping his belly as he gave a short chuckle that shook the room. "It comes from the newly formed security division. Operating under Vornskr. My orphans will be docking momentarily."

"Or-Orpha- What?!"

"Orphans. From Coruscant. I have an operation there, mostly for publicity, but many have been put through rigorous combat training. This will be their first operation."

"I see. What uh, what should we call this force?"

"The Safeharbor Orphanage?" Orcus snorted from his head, "It's hardly a force. There are a few thousand, but as I said, only a few hundred have been put through combat training."

"Uhm. Where-" Tosma blinked. This was all highly unusual! He steeled himself. "Lord Orcus, we are a combat dreadnaught. A warship, not a daycare!"

Orcus flung one massive arm over Tosma's shoulders. "Of course, Captain Tosma. A warship with several thousand new recruits about to do a combat patrol. I've arranged for them to have their own quarters. They won't trouble you or your crew. They just need a taste of action. Besides, Captain, your ship has just come out of repairs and replenishments from heavy losses. Many of your own men are green, are they not?"

"Well.... yes, I suppose so. Apologies, Lord Orcus. I thought-"

"That I would bite your head off? My, how rumor travels... hauum. Never fear Captain. Take us to those coordinates and I'll see to my orphans."

"Yes, Lord Orcus."
 
[member="Hion the Herglic"]

Since no one else had answered Orcus' holocall (the insufferable prudes), Adekos and the Herglic had turned to discussing other matters. Other plots and schemes. The details were incredibly interesting and left totally off-screen, known only to Adekos and Orcus themselves. Maybe other people would be in the loop if they had been bothered to answer their communicators. Hopefully Adekos could rub in their faces later the magnificent success this operation was, and how it would bring incredible glory to the... Well, to the individuals who were not the One Sith.

Adekos departed his office post-haste, joined by his trusty tactical droid, TD-18.

"This is absolutely suicidal." The Umbaran remarked.

TD-18 made a mechanical noise that sounded non-committal.

"We could be killed, or worse. They'll try to wipe out our entire family lines."

The same noise from TD-18. The droid didn't want to point out that it had no family lines, unless the blood-crazed TD-19 and the overly apologetic TD-20 could be considered his family. TD-18 found concepts such as family to be tiring. He felt no immediate bond with those aforementioned droids, even if they were copied from his programming. He doubted they felt any different, but the Umbaran continued his fretting even as they entered the hangar to board his shuttle. TD-18 observed that, for a man who apparently commanded a very powerful and unknowable mystical force with his mind, he sure did worry a lot.

Organics are stupid, and so are their plans.

"Goodness knows it took enough to convince Orcus to let them all live. I hope the complications aren't particularly severe; no act of kindness goes unpunished, as they always say."

TD-18 bemoaned the loss of his ability to shut himself down. Adekos had removed it after the 8th time TD-18 utilized it while he was speaking, no longer content to believe it was a mere glitch. And if it was a mere glitch, certainly a risky one to have. Shutting down at critical moments like that and losing important bits of information...

"Get into contact with the mercenary fleet I keep on speed dial. You know, the ones without transponders and markings. The competent ones." Adekos got to the point, the loading ramp descending at his approach. He paused to draw up his hood around that ominous helmet he tended to don when going on these sorts of trips. "Tell them we'll be rendezvousing at these coordinates, then proceeding on at my direction. They'll be paid well."
 
"There's nothing here."

"Hauum. Look harder."

"We have looked harder, Orcus. We've searched the whole damn system! What else- what are you doing with that?"

"This?" Orcus casually glanced at the light club he held in one flipper and thumbed the activation switch. A crimson length of glowing plasma shot out and came to a stop inches away from Captain Tosma's throat. "Oh, nothing. But now that we're in the middle of deep space, why don't you tell your crew to stand down and be disarmed."

"What is this?!" Tosma exclaimed, afraid to swallow for fear of splicing his bobbing adam's apple on the blade tip.

"Treason," Orcus rumbled, features splitting in a wide smile. "The One Sith have been infiltrated and corrupted by the Vong. I refuse to be a part of their mindless barbarity. I do not wish to kill your crew, Tosma, but I will not hesitate to slaughter each and every one of you on board this bridge and then vent the atmosphere on the rest of the ship."

Tosma scowled, "You wouldn't dare. They'll hunt you down. Where would you go? With what crew would you get there?" He sneered.

"Why do you think I brought my orphans? In quarantine from the rest of the crew, no less."

The Captain's eyes widened and he stuttered briefly, sweat dribbling under his officer's cap and down his forehead. The rest of the bridge crew was deathly still, many with hands on their sidearms, but not daring to draw them.

The Herglic clacked his teeth. "Join me, Tosma. I go to the Techno Union. Your crew will be spared, even welcomed there. Far away from the Vong clutches."

There was a blur of motion on the other side of the ship. Orcus turned his head slightly and emitted a sharp, shrill cry that caused every member of the bridge to fall to their knees in agony, clutching at their ears. A desultory backhand flung the man who'd tried to draw on the Sith Lord across the room. He slammed into the bulkhead and fell to the ground, unconscious or dead.

"Do not test my patience, Tosma. What is your answer?"

[member="Adekos"]
 
[member="Hion the Herglic"]

As The Tragedy of Tosma, Captain of Storm's Eye unfolded, the bridge crew were treated to a new sight. Out the glasteel viewports of the Immortal-class Star Dreadnaught, a motley mercenary fleet dropped out of hyperspace- right on the Immortal's ever-vulnerable starboard side. The exact design and make of their ships was irrelevant. What was relevant was that they were brimming with Ion cannons in place of where turbolasers and other weapons should have been. These were very specialized vessels that were highly vulnerable to just about everything that wasn't a snatch-and-grab ambush. Surprisingly, they didn't immediately open fire. But even the novice naval ensigns could see that the ramshackle fleet were more than capable of disabling the Storm's Eye before it could turn to face them.

On the bridge of one of the smaller ships (one that was less likely to be targeted in the event of a larger naval skirmish), Adekos was present. "Open up a communications with that ship."

The usual captain of this ship, a Nikto by the name of Webber, balked audibly. "We're stealing an Immortal? The Sith are gonna be all over our case for this."

"I told you the payment was high." He shot a masked glare at Webber. "Now patch me through."

Before long, a line was secured, and Adekos' mechanically warped (yet refreshingly eloquent) voice would cackle through the bridge of the Storm's Eye.

"Mr. Orcus, I trust the good captain of your commandeered vessel has accepted our terms and is ready to begin our journey to Primeval space."

That was a bold-faced lie Hion would be familiar with. They weren't going anywhere near that revolting cesspit of tribal zealots. The Storm's Eye and its noble crew were destined for far greater things than slaving away under the watchful visage of the One Sith. Like colonization projects on underpopulated jungle moons. Adekos always enjoyed a good colonization project. Nothing brought on a sense of satisfaction quite like bulldozing sections of rainforest to make way for industrial agriculture operations while meticulously researching the rest of it for pharmaceutical breakthroughs.

Progress.
 
Tosma's eyes bulged at the sight of an entire mercenary fleet coming out of hyperspace. He suspected it would be fairly easy for Orcus to wreak havoc on the bridge and... break things. Even if they did manage to take him down in the end the bridge would be out of commission, leaving the Storm's Eye vulnerable to these piratical maniacs. Tosma grimaced.

"For the safety of my crew and this ship... it appears I have no other choice. Men, stand down. Lord Orcus, you have the conn."

He sighed and sank onto a nearby seat. There. It was done. Treason. No going back now.

"I never liked Vong anyway," he muttered wearily, sweeping off his cap so he could swipe a hand at the glistening sheen of sweat on his pate.

An hour later, the bridge crew was overseen by Orcus and several of the Safeharbor orphans, who'd availed themselves of the ship's armory and now stood guard to make sure nothing got out of hand. The rest of the ship was in a similar state as fifty-six thousand souls, plus a few odd thousands orphans, turned the ship toward a designated section of space and made a tandem jump with the mercenary fleet.

As the stars whorled around the viewport and coalesced into single, stretching lines, Orcus took his last view of One Sith space as a member of that order.

And then he was gone.

* * *

The Immortal sat in a dockyard somewhere inside Techno Union space. The crew was currently being offloaded with the aid of the mercenary fleet. There had been a few minor incidents when the crew at large realized what was happening, but there had been no deaths, though a few suffered from broken bones or were stunned into blissful unconsciousness.

Orcus and [member="Adekos"] stood together on a platform, watching the procession. The Herglic turned to his Umbaran counterpart.

"You have your half-a-hundred thousand souls. And I have my Immortal. As we agreed, hauum. I go to negotiate with the Protectorate for control of Giju. I expect the Storm's Eye to still be here."
 
[member="Hion the Herglic"]

The hyperspace journey was mentally taxing and took the better part of several days. It took the better part of several days because Orcus and Adekos were both unrepentant, sneaky bastards. The Storm's Eye and its mercenary escort promptly exited One Sith space, traveling towards Widek and Galantos. That part didn't take very long- they had been situated by the border, after all. It took a few hours for the One Sith naval command to realize something was amiss (Immortal-class Star Dreadnoughts exiting allied space for neutral territories accompanied by unknown ships was often suspicious). What was more suspicious was when that same Immortal-Class neglected to return any attempts to communicate with it.

A task-force was dispatched to go after it, but by the time it finally left its home port, the Storm's Eye fell off the grid. Its tracking system and link with the rest of the One Sith navy having been severed. By the time the investigating ships would catch up to where the Storm's Eye was last detected, it was long gone once again. The path Adekos directed the ship along was essentially a circle around space controlled by the major nations of the galaxy. They hit Mindabaal, at which point they turned West and passed over worlds such as Gratos, Uystrao, Mayferria, and Mnenecheiasus. This took them along the fringes of One Sith space, but remained well outside their zone of control.

A pit stop was made at Yaga Minor. The Yagans were far too busy preparing for the inevitable (and violent) reclamation of their home by the Mandalorians to ask any questions about the ships they were refueling and restocking. Adekos wished them a great deal of luck and advised them to collaborate with the nearby system of Borosk, a notable fortress world. The next stage of the journey proved the riskiest, as it involved navigating the fringes of four different galactic governments. Adekos and company slipped deftly between Primeval space and the Mandalorian territories. Not once, but twice. It was positively nerve-wracking. Then they had to squeeze between the Silver Jedi's holdings and the Republic's tendril situated over Ossus.

"This is absolute madness." Webber wheezed, clutching his captain's chair for dear life. As if the anticipation of passing between Rhen Var and Ossus was somehow going to suck him out of his chair.

"I don't see what you're worried about. Only an artifact or shiny bauble can incite the Silver Jedi to action, and there are hardly any on this ship."

Webber wheezed again, the Umbaran's humor lost on the Nikto.

Once they had passed that gate, they were essentially home-free. Briefly, the Storm's Eye appeared to broadcast from that area, but just as quick it would cut short. The area between Ossus and Rhen Var, where the Mara Corridor and the Parlemian Trade Route met, would be the last inkling the One Sith had of their location. Though, speaking of the Mara Corridor, the Immortal-class and its ramshackle pirate escort hopped upon the trade route and cruised through it at a now leisurely pace. Finally, they came to a halt within one of hundreds of uninhabited systems located along the route. Techno Union space? Not quite, though they were fairly close.

It was here they parted ways with Webber and his gang. The pirate fleet dispersed, off to new and possibly less insane ventures. Now the Immortal was left alone in the system, save for the handful of empty colony ships Adekos had ordered to be parked there for this use. So began the arduous process of accounting for the Immortal's crew and transferring them to the colony ships. Great, wondrous things were in store for these people. Sure, there were some tears and heartache. "I'll never get to see my family again" and "I don't want to be a colonist" or "let me go back to Coruscant, please, I beg you." Ultimately these fears were assuaged with a single time-honored saying.

"Oh, shut up."

Most of them were grateful for the opportunity to not die in a smoldering wreck in service to a psychotic and mysterious Dark Lord who had died three or four times by this point, at any rate.

* * *

"Control of Giju? For a single Immortal-class? Well, stranger deals have been struck." Adekos coughed into his first, despite wearing a mask. "Good luck, anyway."
 

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