Private In the Shadows of Freedom

[Darth Strosius]

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The Harbinger of Absolution drifted through the vast abyss of space that lay between systems and hyperlanes, shuttles occasionally emerging or jumping into hyperspace around it in a sparse yet consistent flow of traffic to and from the vessel. This was how it spent most of its days really, as a sort of junction for the disparate cells and agents of the Order of Wonosa to rally to and be sent forth from. It was a comfortable monotony, one that the ship's crew had settled into quite readily. Most of the crew at least.

Darth Strosius wasn't quite as settled Himself, not that He ever was these days. There was always too much to be done for any idleness to take root within the Prophet's schedule. Orders to be given, projects to tinker with, meetings and messages to be attended and so on and so forth. A seemingly endless rhythm of operations which tended to the Order as it stood and ensured its steady continuity in equal measure. Now however came His last meeting of the day, one which He had saved for the end specifically because He knew well enough that it could run on longer than anticipated. Not that that would have been a bad thing of course.

The Prophet's Champion Darkseeker had been called to the Harbinger for something of a status update and of course for some less explicit purposes as well. If all that He wanted was a simple chat then He would have called. As usual however Darth Strosius hadn't been specific on why He wanted a proper meeting with Kasir Dorran and He knew well enough that the younger Sith wouldn't be expecting any explanation until he arrived. Such was His habit.

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

The summons had dragged him from Mustafar, though the planet’s heat still clung to his pale flesh. Kasir was not one to be called lightly. What one Sith deemed important was so often vanity to another, but him, that important typically meant death. The shuttle that bore him to the Harbinger of Absolution was outdated to say the least, but he endured it as he endured all things.. with stillness, with patience.

Moments later, the airlock sighed open, sharp as a serpent’s breath. He descended the ramp with grace. No armor adorned his form, no sign of ostentation, only a plain black tunic and leggings veiled beneath a cloak that whispered across the deck as though carrying a voice of its own.

Crew members let their eyes stray to him, before snapping their gazes aside.

Moving at an almost leisurely pace, the Darkseeker carried himself as if the place had been waiting for him. Each step spoke of expectation. Shoulders squared, head inclined, his gaze cut like a blade, as it always did. Beneath the cloak, fingers flexed once, twice.

At last, the chamber. The door hissed open, and automatically the air inside felt heavier.. thick with expectation, and the Prophet's presence.

Kasir stopped just inside the threshold, cloak pooling around his boots, familiar and foreign shadows alike gathering. He did not bow often, as most weren’t worth the effort. But here, in this chamber, that cloak fell forward and his head slowly dipped. It was deep, drawn, enough to mark the elder Sangnir as the only one who had ever truly earned it.

His words were flat. “As shadow follows flame, so I follow you. I am yours to command, my Master.”