The Cold Wind Blows

[Darth Empyrean]

-x-

Snow shredded its way across the ship’s canopy as the taxi ship that it was breached the atmosphere of Svolten. Outside, the planet went wild with frigid anger; always threatening to throw the ship from its flight. A shake, a shudder, and they descended in altitude ever closer to the hidden port known as Nighthunter Port.

A place so renown amongst the alchemic blade masters of the Sith, that The Slave simply couldn’t avoid coming. He had a rather large hankering for Svolten Rhyolite, something he could use to keep Ishtar sharp and polished despite its already well hardened edge. Yet, something else had come across his ears he needed to follow up on.

There was to be a man by the name of Velok who had found his way to this place. Although well hidden, the place was well within the area of space he had a near ubiquitous area of control over; almost entirely in part to his leadership of The Dominion senate. With this influence, he sought to track down a rumor, a legend he had heard on the sedated lips of curious waifs he found on Korriban; something so grand and mysterious he simply couldn’t leave it be.

What he sought was something the Dread Lord Bestia told him from her holocron, The Darkstaff. A weapon so powerful, it could slice the reality they existed in; avoiding all light and energy in favor for the force. It hungered as he did, a weapon so abhorrent that there was an almost immediate attraction. Something so exotic, so powerful and sought after, how couldn’t it be his?

As the thought passed his mind, he broke into a quiet grin only to be interrupted by the pilot’s heavy and gruff accent.

“We’ al’most ‘ere, lad.”, he choked out.

The Slave simply nodded, pulling the hood of his black cloak over his head as he moved towards the rear exit. Only a moment was wasted there before the ship came into its landing bay, quickly finding her place amongst the other freighters and smugglers that littered the outskirts of the port. With little time to waste, The Slave began to move from the port with little regard for the taxi, or the others.

He sought a single entity here, and it was the only thing that would grab his attention today.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

In past months, the Dominion had gone from unknown quantity to commingled benefit and annoyance. For as long as the ambitious interstellar government lasted, the Silver Jedi had no power here. Any insurgent in history could tell you the benefit of a blind and friendly border.

That was the good part. The irritation was harder to pin down, an accumulation of close encounters that left Velok feeling he was​ one bad first impression away from hosting a legion. Human cyborgs overdosing on steroids and wearing the better part of a main battle tank - downright inconvenient.

Therefore he kept a low profile in his own home, a silooth-carapace mansion on the edge of Nighthunter Port. He used a light touch on the city council, who now answered to the Dominion more then they answered to him. He visited the markets by proxy these days. Even so, he'd been here a long time. Just about anyone could have pointed out where the Whiphid lived.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

It didn’t take long for the hunter to find its would be target, nearly everyone knowing of the infamous ‘Velok’. He was a subject of controversy and fear amongst the people of of the port, yet even they said he hadn’t been seen very often. The otherwise uniqueness that was a warthog wearing a robe couldn’t be mistaken for something else, yet each spoke as if he had become nothing more than a legend or enigma.

The thought bounced within his mind’s eyes, making out a fictional shape and feature for what he might look like. Someone strong, tall, and imposing; much like the various warriors that existed in the galaxy. Yet, he couldn’t seem to make out the full picture, most likely to being distracted. He wasn’t used to the cold that this place held, and as his strides took him towards the manor in question, he could feel the temperature drive deeper and deeper into his bones.

Eventually however, he found where he was looking for; an organic abomination of an abode that gave a glimpse into the lives the people of the port lived. A hard and unruly life bound by utilizing what they were able to, just to survive. To think The Slave once lived a life such as that himself sickened him, and deep beneath there was an always nagging anxiety about just when he’d be able to leave.

A quick few rasps on the door signaled his arrival, each forming a slight echo in the area. Taking a few steps back, he let the hood slide just far enough to expose his face; the corrupted iris’s he held watching the door in a constant wait.

He wondered if he’d live up to his idea of him.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

Velok paused at the door and took a deep breath to gauge his visitor by scent. Human, or close enough; urban; male; Dark Side. He contemplated playing a game, but just the other day [member="Tai Fa"] had given him an incisive haiku about first impressions. Whuffling irritably, Velok opened the chitin door and looked down.

Yellow eyes met. Otherwise, the pale grub couldn't have been any more different from him. Humanoids all looked the same, and as for determining their ages, forget it. Still, this one seemed especially skinny and hairless about the jowls - young for his eyes to have changed already. Velok sniffed again: no, definitely male.

“You're not here to learn; you already have the eyes, and you'd be the first human in thirty millennia to think he could learn something from an...alien. You're not here to barter; there's a black market to suit your needs about three hundred human paces behind you. You're not here to challenge me for the port; you don't smell on edge, you're visibly unprepared, and eyes or not, like shavvit are you a Master. You're here to deliver a message, find out some other Sith's weakness, or find out if I'm a liability or an asset. At least two ways out of three, that makes you Dominion. Accurate?”

 

[Darth Empyrean]

A cocked brow and a sly grin was the first answer he offered before a response came slow and carefully crafted. His words held confidence, if not outright playful behavior;

“Not at all.”

He offered a light laugh before calming himself, readjusting the hood as his young and smooth tone moved to meet Velok’s ears. Where he stood, he was surely outmatched; but he wasn’t here to fight, and refused to be intimidated no matter the assumptions the alien made.

“You assume right that I am not a Master. Infact, I’m a slave.”

Condensation held on his hot breath as he spoke, creating a small mist like cloud between them.

“Nothing more. I actually come in search of a rumor I heard… Something about a Darkstaff perhaps?”, he said with a quick glint forming in his amber irises.

“And no, I am not Dominion. Long story.”

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

Velok sneered tuskily, irritated that he'd guessed wrong.

"This may come as a surprise, grub, but the galaxy has contained more than one noteworthy Whiphid. The one you want is dead, and good riddance. The Jedi threw his staff down the well of a black hole.”

Behind him, a doubly immense shape loomed into the Slave’s field of vision. <All good here, Gramps?>

“Fine, thank you,” Velok said over his shoulder. “Go finish your dinner.”

Eight hundred pounds of young Whiphid rumbled assent and ambled off to the kitchen. Velok refocused on his visitor. “I may have an answer or two for you, for the right price. My knees aren't what they used to be. Come in, have a seat, and talk.”

The entryway opened onto a silooth-chitin room with Whiphid-scale chairs of terentatek bone. Velok settled into one and indicated another.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave’s expression fell slightly, the once cocky behavior drooped to something more disappointed than anything else. A faint wind blew past him as he left a silence between them, only to break it with a sigh and a slow spirited word;

“Fine.”

Meandering in, he moved to take off the coat and glance around the humble abode. It was quant, for what it was; the internal structure of a long dead beetle turned into what could only be referred to as ‘homely’. It held a slight warmth to it, something that kept him comfortable; though he couldn’t quite tell if it was just because he was out of the wind.

“If I’m honest, I’m actually a bit disappointed you weren’t the one I was seeking.”, he said as he strided slowly into the house. In the distance, he could hear the form of the prior behemoth move towards the kitchen; its sheer weight alone making him the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I’d introduce myself, but I don’t have a name.”

His gaze moved back towards Velok, meeting corruption with corruption as he glanced over his facial features, memorizing them each wrinkle as his attention passed over them.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

The bone chair creaked as Velok leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Among my people, if an icewalker - an explorer - finds a new thing, he gives it a name. I'll call you Tai, after another peacock. I'm called Velok, after my father, the unmitigated south end of a northbound jakobeast who you were looking for."

Lacing huge fingers over his stomach, he sat back. A comfortable posture eluded him.

"If you want to last long among the Sith, learn to hide your disappointment. But since you've already revealed it, ask away. I know some of my father's work."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The opposite chair creaked as the original did, offering a slow groan before adjusting to The Slave’s weight. An idle hand ran across his face before glancing up to Velok, curiously wondering what the name ‘Tai’ meant to him. After a second of deliberation, he broke the silence with a few choice words;

“What can you tell me about it? The Darkstaff, that is. Despite my reach and influence, I’ve only been able to grasp at vague rumors and broken leads.”

Alabaster hair was brushed back as they sat, a brow furrowed as he sat to learn. It reminded him of when he was younger, forced to listen to the elder slaves as they told them stories and passed on what education they could. It was in one such circle he was taught how to read, and another that led to the life he lead now.

One of righteous sin in the name of his master. A broken life that followed the ambitions of another. To him, he was nothing more than a tool for those above him; but despite this flaw in an otherwise conceded behavior, he was as independent and predatory in his goals as the rest of them.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

"There's an appropriate human expression: 'everything but the kitchen sink.' Whoever designed the Darkstaff - some nameless Sith in the Cularin system, millennia ago - spent years imbuing it with all kinds of foolishness. Folklore attributes any number of powers to the staff, and most of those stories are true. The staff was responsible for ripping a star system out of time itself. It was sentient. It could drain energy, warp life, alter emotion, and so forth and so on.

"The Darkstaff was destroyed about nine centuries ago. My father discovered that the Jedi had recovered most of the pieces and kept them at a temple on Tython. He and a handful of associates raided the Jedi and secured the fragments. He took them to the Dark Forge of Aza'Zoth, the most powerful alchemical apparatus in the galaxy. With the aid of the Forge's master - Val'Ryss Zankarr, Darth Hauntruss - and the alchemist Warren Valik, along with a young Rave Merrill, he reforged the staff. Before you ask, all three of those master alchemists are dead and gone.

"They discarded most of the staff's bizarre abilities. My father's notes are incomplete. All I know for sure is that the staff could accumulate huge amounts of energy.

“He and the archivist Lord Dissero both served the Sith Empire. They disagreed with certain reforms made by Emperor Tyrin Ardik. Before their positions were made obsolete, they stole the Empire's entire archive, which Dissero oversaw and which fell within my father's sphere. They then staged an auction, a public auction, at the neutral world of Contruum between the Empire and the Republic. They baited the warmongering factions within the Republic, and it worked. Political pressure forced Chancellor Aleidis Ijet - a young former Jedi Master, and a ghostlng - to intervene at Contruum in force. That led to the destruction of the Sith Empire, and, indirectly, at least two Jedi schisms.”

Velok grinned widely.

“When the Republic arrived at Contruum, my father boarded their flagship alone, with the Darkstaff. He aimed to assassinate Chancellor Ijet. But that young ghostlng was a Master, and a clever one, and she had support from a couple of Jedi Padawans named Diana Moridena and Daella Apparine, of whom I'm sure you've heard. My father died, permanently. Ijet and her mentor, the Ithorian priest Boolon Murr, eventually threw the Darkstaff into a black hole.”

 

[Darth Empyrean]

He pondered what was spoken for a second, idly letting the thoughts pass through his mind before speaking shortly, a cocked brow signifying his curiosity and interest.

“Although a singularity might break apart most normal things, I have a feeling that if what you say is true about this artifact that it may have well survived; if not in a thousand pieces.”

The Slave brought a hand to his pale chin, averting his eyes in thought as he heard the alien speak. His voice was aged, riddled with wisdom and a gruffness that betrayed any youth he once had; something he couldn’t help but feel thankful in regards to himself. The idea of retiring to a planet like this, just to raise a family sounds deplorable in every sense of the word.

“Tell me then, Velok, do you still have his notes? Any record of his recreation of it?”

Readjusting in his seat, his tone took a new spirit, abandoning the forlorn disappointment for something more excited; the subtle hints of an idea forming in his head as they sat and spoke.

“Anything in truth would be helpful.”

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

"Oh, many have tried to siphon the aura of the thing from orbit." Velok accepted a large, steaming mug from his grandchild, who stomped in and out like a furry glacier. The old Whiphid drank deep. "Even the Jedi tried it for some asinine reason, during the years where the Republic tried to rule the galaxy. What my father made is long gone.

"But I'll tell you a secret, Tai. When Velok the Elder, Val'Ryss Zankarr, and Warren Valik remade the Darkstaff, they didn't have every piece. Or rather my father didn't bring every piece to them. He always suspected that Valik, who joined him on the raid, held back a fragment as well, but I've searched Valik's secret workshop and found nothing like that. So far as I'm aware, the only remaining shard of the original Darkstaff...is mine. It holds no personal meaning for me, at least none that would stop me from making the right trade."

He trained the last of the gallon mug and set it aside on a table of leviathan horn. One shaggy eyebrow rose in a silent question.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave gave a slow nod, but his pervasive smile showed some lack of belief in what Velok said. Yet, there too was a second interest that followed his words; something that carried through the air with nothing more than his stare.

“You have my interest, Velok. What would you have of me?”

His corrupted gaze trained itself onto the aged and furry form of the younger, glazing over the massive weight that he was. There was something off about his entity in the force, not the Whiphid but the silver stranger in front of him; a faint and washing sensation found its way through the home in waves.

While many were the flame in darkness, The Slave seemed something else; something akin to the smoke of a fire filling the room. Yet, he seemed oblivious to it; either through accustomation or simply because he didn’t notice. Simply put, something wasn’t right about what he was, a latent energy that seemed equal parts enigmatic as it did malignant, all carried with a scintilla of danger customary of sith through his very stance in the chair.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

"What could a slave own that would interest me?" said Velok. "I know nothing about what you are, who owns you, what resources you control, what influence you carry, and whose ear you whisper in."

He spread his massive hands in a shrug. "As far as I'm aware, I have no immediate or specific needs. If you want what I have, take a guess as to what I'll value. Make me an offer, Tai, and we'll see how open each of us will have to get before we can strike a mutually advantageous bargain. Your thoughts?"

 

[Darth Empyrean]

A slow nod came as a response before he readjusted in his seat; a spritely spirit coming in his tone as he began to speak,

“I may not have a name, but I’m a slave under the control of Darth Imperia. I’ve taken over The Dominion through their senate, and religious cults on the planet of Lorrd. If that doesn’t speak of my qualifications, albeit my inexperience, then I’m not sure what would.”

He paused for a moment, letting his words settle before speaking once more.

“I can supply whatever you’d want. Ships, money, weaponry, influence, or connections.”

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

"Ahhh...Imperia." Velok's lips quirked in a grin. "Another of her trophies. Now that's interesting. If your owner were anyone else, Tai, I'd proceed to bargain as normal with someone in your position. Nighthunter Port could certainly use, say, an area shield generator and early-warning hyperspace reversion sensors. Important waypoint in the back trails of the Stygian Caldera and so forth and so on."

He shook his head, mane flapping. "But I find it necessary to ask you about your loyalty to your mistress, and your reasons for going after the Darkstaff. And if I don't like what I hear, I may have to talk to Imperia personally. Anything that could tip the balance of power between a master and an...apprentice?...is worth approaching carefully. You'll notice I don't say whether I'd favor upsetting her or appeasing her. We've known each other quite a while, but in the end, we're largely unknown quantities to each other.

"So then, Tai. Tell me why you want the staff, and how you feel about your...owner."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“Velok, I’m a slave. I serve my master’s interests in every aspect, every detail until the day I die. I am nothing more than what she commands of me, I never will be, and the only voice I listen to in its entirety is the one she controls.”

He paused and watched Velok before speaking once more;

“Regardless of your opinion of her, what I do today is my own. Not to undermine or subvert her, nor anyone else; only to establish myself above where I was yesterday, and to bring respect to my lack of a name. My loyalties are pure, but with the freedom she gives me I must fill my time with grand dreams and hopeful intentions, this being one of them.”

“Does that suffice?”

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

Velok whuffled and shrugged.

"Actually, yes. Just understand that, at some point, I'll certainly inform her that I've given you the last shard of the Darkstaff.

"If, that is, you convince me to sell. Ships, money, weapons, influence, connections - these things have situational uses to me. I find myself needing stealth ships, simple to operate, preferably suitable for boarding operations. Do you have access to anything suitable, Tai? Frankly, I'm not sure what kinds of ships the Dominion uses, though I've seen old Sith Empire and Fringe Confederation assets with your flag. Penumbra-class interdictors, perhaps? Sekairo-class insertion transports?'

 

[Darth Empyrean]

A brow cocked in response to the ever vague responses Velok carried. It was obvious he spent time crafting his responses, through a long many years he had built such a personality. One that preferred a prepared movement than something careless and brash; likely the biggest difference between their two personalities in all honesty. In contrast, The Slave was far more abrasive and forward; constantly on the move to a destination he didn’t even know himself.

He offered a careful hum, as if mulling over the request; an obvious ploy to at least seem ‘tempted’. His words tone betrayed him however, showing a clear excitement with each syllable.

“I’m unsure just what The Dominion has, but whatever it is; we can find it. I’ll have my resources on Lorrd begin the search immediately.”

Yet, despite his obviously excited tone and vagrant grin; it faded slightly as he somewhat hesitated, but not of the second guessing nature, only the curious.

“Velok… I must ask, what do you intend to do with them? Pirating?”

His hand adjusted to hold up his chin, idly waiting for the response.

│ [member="Velok the Younger"] │

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="The Slave"]

"Nothing so prosaic. My homeworld, Toola, has been under human control for decades - the Sith Empire, the Republic, and now the Silver Jedi. My people have been relegated to convenient bartering partners and local guides on our own planet. Toola's self-determination is paper-thin. It's incorporated into the galaxy via unequal, sometimes exploitative, often uninformed terms of trade. My people need starships. We need better education about technology that could enhance, rather than replace, our way of life. We will be more than captive markets for Sasori products.

"Since no regime would look kindly on my people gaining spaceflight capability, though, all ship-handling training and derivative operations must happen out of sight of the Jedi. Hence, stealth ships."