First Reply No Country for Good Men

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

// Koboh

Canyon Run was nowhere. A nowhere on the backside of hell itself. Water was scarce, the moisture vaporators were noisy, and the people were of that delicate disposition known as ornery.

It was a hard place. A place you did not live because you had options. This was the place you came when you didn't ever want to be found, or perhaps you had never been known in the first place.

For Brandyn, it was now the only place he would allow himself to visit besides the homestead.

"You said it would be in on Zhellday?" the fallen Jedi muttered from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

He never showed his face more than he needed to. The town mocked him for it, said no one would care how ugly he was. Apparently, a fellow named Fink had long held the dubious distinction of being Canyon Run's ugliest resident, and nobody had ever managed to out-ugly him. Brandyn had no particular desire to contest the title.

"And you weren't here on Zhellday..." came the dismissive reply.

"That was only two days ago," Brandyn said, the words escaping in a breathy, irritated grunt.

"Then you should've come two days ago." There was a sense of finality in the storekeeper's tone, made abundantly clear when the butt of his blaster rifle came into view beneath the brim of Brandyn's hat.

For a moment, the fallen Jedi considered the weapon. Not because it frightened him. Quite the opposite. The thought came unbidden, an almost casual consideration of how little effort it would take to wrench the rifle from the man's hands. How easily he could reach into that small, spiteful mind and make the fellow regret having ever raised his voice.

The temptation passed. Though not quite as quickly as it should have.

Pushing off from the counter, Sal-Soren glanced up at the portly man's mangled countenance and offered him a slight nod of acceptance. He swallowed the indignity, though it settled bitterly in his stomach. There had been a time when men considerably more powerful than this one had treated him with deference. Now, apparently, he could not even convince a backwater merchant to hold on to a shipment for two days.

As he stepped out of the wooden building, he found himself looking back to see if the storekeeper's attitude had fixed itself. It had only worsened. The man stood snarling in the doorway, brandishing his rifle as though Brandyn were about to cause trouble.

It would not come. Trouble brought attention. Attention brought questions. And questions, when left unanswered, had a particularly unpleasant habit of bringing hunters. He could not afford hunters.

Nor, for that matter, could he afford another wasted journey into town. The supplies back at the homestead was dwindling, and while Ariadne had assured him there were alternatives that might sustain Gianna in an emergency, he had no intention of discovering just how desperate that emergency needed to become.

The thought of returning empty-handed troubled him considerably more than the rifle had.

He adjusted the brim of his hat and looked along the dusty thoroughfare of Canyon Run. Somewhere among these miserable buildings, there had to be someone who had his supplies. Or someone with a shipment to spare, a trader passing through, or perhaps a mother whose child had recently outgrown the stuff.

He would pay. He would barter. He would even beg, if it came to that. Though he rather hoped it wouldn't.

While there were limits to how much humiliation a man could endure in a single afternoon, he would stoop as far as he needed to. Babies, after all, needed to eat.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Koboh meant little to the Sith.
​

A forgotten frontier world worth nothing, as Nefaron himself had learned on his hunt for the famed Tanalorr. While that hunt proved fruitless, he maintained his own local sources after leaving, in case the Jedi took up the hunt for the hidden world. Weeks turned to months, and in that time the Corpse Lord all but ignored reports from these local contacts, for they sought only a quick payday in exchange for information that would lead to ruins that had already been explored or suspicion of every newcomer that sought the peace Koboh brought.

Yet that suspicion had apparently revealed something interesting.

Reports filtered in of an odd addition to one of the small settlements on the surface, one that kept to himself and did everything he could to keep his face hidden.

Someone who was doing everything they could to blend in, but failed at every turn.
​

While nothing concrete, Nefaron determined that it was worth sending one of his droid servants to confirm the reports while maintaining the peace and quiet that Canyon Run had come to know in the past decades. What the droid reported was far more interesting than Nefaron could have ever expected, something that he could not resist seeing for himself.

Brandyn Sal-Soren. Alive and well.

And hiding.
​

A fallen Jedi refusing to embrace his power and choosing to hide instead? That was something the Corpse Lord could not let stand, for if there was any opportunity to lure this lost child of the foolish Jedi Order into the dark, he was most certainly going to take it. So, Nefaron made the trip to the backwater world, though he came with little more than a pair of his guardian droids, black cloaks concealing warblades and blasters, while the Corpse Lord himself appeared as little more than an old man who had lived far too long.

He might have usurped the title of ugliest face on Koboh.

Not that anyone said that to his face.​

But regardless of the locals' thoughts, Nefaron took up residence in the local saloon, watching over the merchant's wooden dwelling that the rogue Jedi had been known to visit when he deigned to journey into town. Had he taken up the life of a rancher out on the open range? Such a poor use of one's potential, something Nefaron intended to rectify if he could help it.

That certainly explained why the Corpse Lord was waiting for Brandyn as he finished with the merchant, quietly rocking in a wooden chair just outside the saloon. He was more than certain the Jedi could sense him, but better to do this the old-fashioned way.

"Brandyn, my boy, come over! Let's have a chat, you and I!"

While inviting as ever, the pair of droids that had accompanied Nefaron moved toward the Jedi, perhaps as a bit of encouragement to come speak with their master instead of relying on that barely concealed anger.

Oh, and how Nefaron enjoyed that anger.

TAGS: Brandyn Sal-Soren ​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The sun beat down upon the noble born child of Naboo. But the air had chilled.

The wound on his left cheek tugged at its fractured edges, just a hint of the Dathomiri magick that held it together showing with green light vaguely outlining the ever persistent tears in his flesh.

He heard the words of the elderly man in his mind before his ears registered the sound of them. Long, slow breathing from his nostrils followed as he contemplated all the risks, and buried his true purpose on this world deep within his mind, pulling on everything had learned in years of undercover work, to keep Gianna a secret.

First, the witch. Now this... Perhaps Brandyn was destined to fail at protecting his beloved little one just as he had failed at everything else.

There were things he could do to escape. Even the spectrum of visible light had bent more readily to his will in recent months, and the simulacra he could conjure through the darkness might occupy the old man for hours while Brandyn slipped away unnoticed. But what good would that accomplish? The stranger would remain on Koboh, knowing that Brandyn was here, somewhere.

There was nothing to do but face the moment.

Stiffly, muscles protesting every moment, Brandyn turned towards the seemingly harmless older man, to find it a rather unpleasant sight. The droids prompted him to approach, and the Jedi in him, or whatever pitiful remnant of that man he still dared to call by such a name, compelled him to step forward.

"You know me. So, it seems you have me at a disadvantage," he said, words not coming across as confidently as he would have liked.

Darth Nefaron

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"Oh yes, I know of you. But it's another thing altogether to see you in person."
​

Nefaron leaned forward in his chair, face hidden beneath his dark cloak, save of course for his twisted maw of a mouth. The droids moved to stand on either side of their master, but made no move to draw weapons or show hostility of any sort, not while the fallen Jedi engaged in a pleasant chat with the Dark Lord.

“Darth Nefaron. I can go about listing titles if you wish, but I know that you are a busy man. But the question is, why are you hiding out on this forgotten rock?”

The Corpse Lord looked up then, revealing the scope of his damaged face and a set of seemingly dead eyes as he met Sal-Soren’s steely gaze. This particular son of Naboo had attempted to dress as a local, but it was obvious he was not attuned to the climate, nor was he particularly comfortable, though that might be as a result of his isolation being interrupted by a Sith Lord.

“Your mind is well guarded, admirable if I wanted to have a look at your thoughts. But you have already given me everything I need to know.”

The Sith chuckled for a moment before continuing.

“You are protecting someone. If you wanted isolation, you would have found a desolate rock, but this place? No, you need civilization, even in its barest form. Now why might that be?”

Nefaron leans back into his chair, fingers tapping against the wooden armrest as he begins to slowly rock, as if he were merely an old man enjoying the heat of a warm summer day.

"So what is it? A secret lover? A family you've kept sequestered away all this time? I suppose it matters little; it's not as if you'd tell me. But the fact remains, you are keeping something safe here. But what will you do now that I know?"

The answer was obvious; of course, he would try to flee and find some other remote hideaway for whatever he sought to keep safe from the galaxy. While Nefaron did enjoy a good chance and the subsequent fear that accompanied it, he had an offer that was entirely unexpected to make. Raising one of his hands, he beckons for one of his droids to approach and, when close, present a heavy bag from within its cloak and into Nefaron's waiting palm.

"You seem accustomed to this world; I see little reason for you to leave it. In fact, I offer you a generous supply of credits and access to whatever supplies you need. I am not one to tattle, young Brandyn, so believe me when I tell you that this place will be kept safe so long as you and I come to an... arrangement. One that I think you will find mutually beneficial."

The Corpse Lord extends the bag toward the fallen knight; the temptation of wealth is clearly one of the Dark Lord's favorite tools. But he was one for honesty, so he provided a bit more information in regard to what he wanted.

"You may think yourself a Jedi no longer. But the fact remains that you can travel into the Republic in a way that I cannot. You shall be my agent, a trusted confidant on Naboo and beyond. Do this, and I will ensure the life you live here is safe and happy. If not... well, we both know the alternative."

TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren
​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn bit the inside of his cheek as he thought on the moment. "Well, look at you knowing stuff," he grumbled, before looking away with a sigh. It was not resignation, not yet. The expression was more exasperation.

"I have had my fill of betraying the people I care about," he said, before looking back at the hooded figure, though his eyes could not linger on the revealed mangle of whatever part of the man's face became visible. The scene felt...horribly prophetic.

A dark lord of the Sith would not be abated so easily. Brandyn knew this. But the bravado, false as it may be, was always the first recourse for the male heir of House Ee'Everwest.

"I have all the money I need." He didn't. In fact, Brandyn had never known such lack of funds in his young life. With only a few hundred credits to his name, he was about to suggest that Ariadne start taking up some local contracts, just to bring in some extra creds.

He went back to chewing the inside of his mouth. Nefaron was a name that was not completely new to him. Corpse Lord was something he recalled being associated with the reports. How delightful.

Head tipping back in frustration, Brandyn groaned. "Force damn it all. I deserve this cursed life," he muttered before running his hand over his face, to wipe the expression away. It didn't work.

He shrugged. It wasn't acceptance, but more the start of an explanation as to his not being what Nefaron thought he could be. "Look. I am...not your guy. Seriously. I...probably can't set foot on Naboo without triggering a hundred alerts...the Lightspire Station? I couldn't even get on board...knowing my sister, even the Republic Tax Revenue Service has been sent a picture of my face...I am no good to you."

Darth Nefaron

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"I have had my fill of betraying the people I care about,"

That wasn't his decision to make. Not anymore.
​

Still, Nefaron was, if nothing, a good listener. He allowed this fallen son of Naboo to lament his past mistakes and degrade his own self-worth, appearing as though he were a wise Jedi Master who sought to sort through the misgivings of a Padawan. In truth, the Corpse Lord knew full well the depth of this man's despair, for while his mind was carefully guarded, the Force around him was a wash with a patchwork of powerful emotions, emotions the Sith knew all too well.

Anger.

Hatred.

Despiar.

Self-loathing.

All useful tools, but in this case Nefaron was not here to torment him further.

That would come later. ​

But instead, he rose from his chair and approached the frontiersman, hand folded behind his back to show he had no harmful intentions, though the young Sal-Soren may not belive that to be the case.

"But you see, my boy, that is exactly why I have come to you. You think those bridges closed forever, when in reality that is far from the truth. To the credit of the Order you once so diligently served, forgiveness and reconciliation are at the heart of their teachings. It is not an easy road, nor is it one that you may wish to walk, but do not deny that part of you wishes to go home."

Who didn't crave that? The belonging, the family, the warmth that came with being in the presence of one whose love was unconditional. Nefaron had known that once, centuries past, but now his heart was but a black hole of despair and terror. Any hope he granted was fleeting and served only to drag other beings into the grasp of madness. But for now, he tempted the man with one offer, but also decided to seek out another altogether should he have truly broken the bonds of friendship and family.

"I sense a darkness in you, Brandyn. Something altogether special. Whatever feelings you attempt to bury could be put to much better use if you had the proper guidance. Why not let go of that blasted restraint and rule this world openly? Look around; it's not as if these people could stop you."

There was not a single Jedi in the entire galaxy that did, at least once, consider how they might rule over the galaxy with the power they possessed. They could lie to themselves all they wished, but in the end that thought lay in the back of their minds, the blackest part of themselves they wished to bury forever. But one could not just come out and say that; it must be worked towards, the individual goaded into taking the dark road via other promises. It had worked with Nefaron's Apprentices; it would certainly work again here if his hunch was correct.

"These people treat you like scum. Dirt. Filth. But you hold back for... what? Under my guidance, I would see you as so much more than this. You would be my agent, yes, but in return I promise to make you so much more."

A promise made many times, but the Corpse Lord had not lied once in all those moments. Young Veradun Sharr was now a Dark Lord proper, great and terrible in his might as a result of Nefaron's teachings. Eurydice was only just walking her own dark path, but soon enough she would have entire star systems trembling before her terrible power.

What fate awaited Brandyn Sal-Soren?​

"Or I could kill everyone in this little speck of a town. Scour this world of every single lifeform. Enslave entire families. But neither of us wants that, do we, my boy?"

TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren ​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The old man Nefaron was wrong. Brandyn had no desire to go home. None that he would acknowledge. None that the Sith would sense.

The truth was that he had given himself to the suffering he deserved. Despite the Witches healing of his face, there were somethings that could not and he would not allow to be healed. A fracture in his soul. The overwhelming weight of his actions. The memory of his wife's face as she came close to dying at his hand. The ghosts of his actions tormented him. And he welcomed it.

His eyes turned back to the old man as he mentioned the darkness within. Brandyn moved away slightly, repulsed by the notion, no matter how much he knew it to be true. He had felt the power. When the witch Meya Liefi had used her own anger and hatred of him to fuel her attack. Their Force connection had allowed him to see the power like he had never before. An appetite had been created that day, something he did not know how to quell.

Without giving it any thought, Brandyn did in fact, look around when instructed to. A sigh escaped him. It was the first time he had thought about how easy it would be. But how wrong it would be still held sway in his soul. Not to mention how it would bring unwanted attention.

"Yeah. I think I will pass on the conquest...thanks," he muttered.

He felt his back tighten. Another Sith trying to claim his future. Another Sith offering power. He had already pledged himself, foolishly, to the witch. And now this rotting old man sought to offer him more.

This is who you are now, Brandyn. The one the Sith see as a prospect.

He hated it. Hated Nefaron for offering. Hated himself for being a visible target for the offer. The spite issued from within him in pulsating, rhythmic waves.

Somehow, his fists and clenched.

He would reject the offer.

Only. It was not an offer.

It was a threat.

He had been studying the same spot on the floor of the wooden porch for the last few moments. Once the threat was truly acknowledged, did he look up, eyes barely visible beneath the brim of his hat.

"I don't want that. But I suspect you would not care," he said, words showing the exasperation.

There was no choice. To keep his daughter safe, he had to make a deal with yet another devil. How many deals before you were the devil himself?

"I can't leave Koboh. Not yet. I need some time..."

It wasn't a no.

Darth Nefaron