The Council of the Hand

[Aran Finn]

Aboard the Tulak Hord-class Star Destroyer Gorgon

It had not been long since the coup that had installed [member="Ashin Varanin"] as Empress of the Hand. Usually, Na'Varro would have chosen the option of patience, but now was not the time for that. The Empire was in dire straits. Ravagers had penetrated the outer colonies and were now laying siege to the capital world of Haladen itself, the ancient Thrawn Fleet was in ruins, and it seemed that the Imperials had lost the will to fight. Luckily, Na'Varro had allies ... and a damn good plan. So he had put out a call to faces old and new. Assemble on the Gorgon, join forces, and push this savage enemy back beyond the borders of the galaxy. Then, and only then, would they turn inwards. The Core beckoned.

The Empress' right-hand man gazed out of the viewport of the conference room, watching the stars as always. Behind him, a round durasteel table, perhaps twenty metres in diameter, lay empty for now. That would all change. Na'Varro looked over at Varanin. A new body, and now a new direction for his formidable ally. Empress once again ... this time, for good.

He pressed his black suit down, his hands settling into his pockets while maintaining an imperious bearing.

"Pulling this one off ... it might even be fun." The Sith Lord eyed her Majesty, chuckled, and turned towards the door. A New Galactic Order would start here, today. It would be a long road ... but all roads lead to Coruscant.

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

Docking with the Gorgon had been better left to the Handmaidens. Ahani Najwa had much, much, much more important things to do while she hopped from foot to foot by the hangar bay doors.

The elder Echani was scrubbing her elbows clean in a bowl of hot, soapy water. "For the love of p-ffff-how did I get that son of a pencil's blood on my sl-s-sl-clothes. I can't believe he did this to me. You did this to me out of spite you little urchin! Spite! You wanted to ruin my big appearance before laundry day! Eeeaauugh!" Ahani's well-booted foot kicked down on a crumbled pile on the floor. The man curled into his ruined gut and flinched.

A gurgle was her only reward, any real good had long been sapped from the Haladen Beurocrat's single-track mind hours ago. "Couldn't I have electrocuted you or something? Noooo, not electrocution. Big baby. If I hadn't cut you, you wouldn't have ruined my brand new tunic! I wanted to look nice for the Empress Varanin!" Another swift kick to the man's back and he shook uncontrollably. Ahani smelled something funny. . . she finished scrubbing with the soapy water and hurried down the docking umbilical toward the meeting place aboard the Gorgon.

There she entered, eight hundred and fifty years worth of Sith Mastery, snapping to attention for [member="Alen Na'Varro"] while rubbing at her sleeve. "News, news, news, news, some olds and some really pansy babies on that planet down there. If we don't take it in a day or three I'll personally go eliminate the blockages myself. With my . . . elbows. Or a big stick. . . where is everybody?"

 

[Not Ordo]

The big Commando stood near the entrance and waited on the council members to all be seated. He held his E-11 at the ready and made little to no movement. He owed [member="Ashin Varanin"] his life for this position and he wasn't about to do anything stupid. He was a little big for a stormtrooper, but with a past like his he would have washed floors as long as he got to hide from who he was. Grey eyes looked at the HUD and he heard the other troopers joking about the woman [member="Ahani Najwa"].

"Careful lads, forcies can here your thoughts sometimes." He said to the others, "Never turn your back on them either."

"Shut up private." the sergeant said before returning to his conversation.

"Aye Sir." was his only reply.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Alen Na'Varro"]

"Back in the saddle, Na'Varro."

She didn't turn away when he did, though it might have been impolite to the next arrivals. Be it a twenty-thousand-kilometre fall off the Spires of Hell, or a deep-space sightline out of the Star Destroyer Gorgon, she never could resist a view. So when the door opened and [member="Ahani Najwa"] did her thing, it took Ashin a long moment to turn her back on the glasteel and the starscape beyond, unclasp her hands from behind her back, and get herself in a people frame of mind.

Najwa's state of being preceded her, both in the dossier sense and in the Force. A Master, and one with a familiar taste of age to her; tale as old as time. The sword at her hip and the telescoping staff fit her wirey lines. Competent, then, in a melee sense, and the balance of power came down to melee competence more often than not. It had for thirty-five thousand years. Maybe the Celestials had transcended melee combat; maybe that had been their secret.

"Inquisitor Najwa." She moved away from the viewport, more fully into the room's light. Poison-pale eyes flicked past Ahani at the stormtrooper by the door, then back. "Welcome to the Gorgon. Your sword strikes me as mastercraft -- is it a Merrill or a Verd?"

 

[Jared Starchaser]

There was an Empire beginning. And Jared Starchaser, the son of a former Chiss-funded and based Imperial view, and former Fel Imperial Knight, was seeking refuge among the Fringe Federation. Until he heard word the Empire of the Hand was starting to pull together, and reach out to the stars once more. Approaching the Wing and Ship command of Warbird Wing and the ancient Imperial Class Star Destroyer Dawn Treader, the blessing was given to seek out this organization.

While the ImpStar would remain in Fringe space until the appropriate time, Jared and a small detachment of pilots from Warbird Wing’s Falcon Squadron were dispatched to the Empire as a representative, and to find the future of the Wing. The Exalt fighters arrived around the Gorgon and Jared boarded, allowing the fighters to fall into escort with the Star Destroyer’s house squadron.

Wearing the black military uniform that he was so used to, and an Imperial Knight lightsaber on his hip, the pilot approached the conference room alone. When he entered, he looked, and felt out of place. “Empress.” Please don’t say ‘and you,’ please don’t say ‘and you’. “Sir.” He nodded to [member="Ashin Varanin"] and Alen Na’Varro in turn. Hopefully he could work himself into working for the house Wings for a bit. That would be nice.

 

[Not Ordo]

"It's a verd." The trooper said.

"Didin't I say shut up?" his sergeant replied.

"yes sir." the trooper said.

"Then do it." the sergeant replied, "The empress hasn't told you to speak."

"Aye, Sir." The trooper said before turning off all comms, "Shabla Kark."

He continued to stand resolved to speak only if spoken too.

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

The Grand Inquisitor was rubbing her elbow so hard the fabric had begun to warm up on her skin. She walked by chatting troopers and raised an eyebrow. Talk, talk, talk and let them do so. Let the blighters talk. Wasn't information her business in this new regime? As the Grand Inquisitor wasn't it her insatiable curiosity and abilities to discern the truth in a toe-heel mark on a person's walk, in the way they cast their chin or the hold of their head before the chopping block?

Dishonesty was intolerable, disloyalty even worse but too much chatter? Too much talk? 'Let them talk. Let them call me cursed things I don't need the wembling words of a two bit sergeant. I'll take the Private who knows how to hold-tongues.' Ahani would never chastise another for talking too much, oh no. Not when the whole sentient realm talked incessantly. Constant conversations were being had in every muscle twitch and facial expression. The universe was loud with talk.

Ahani stopped and found the point of stillness in the crowd was none other than Empress [member="Ashin Varanin"]. The Echani Matron swept into a richly textured bow of pride, honour and subservience. A conversation in itself to those whose ways included the rich subtext of Echani motion. There was an ease to her muscles, a lack of the jitters and twitches which had read like stutters in the days past. Her silver eyes glanced up to the Empress' face and she tilted her chin down as one who knew their place and took pride in the knowing.

"Th-thank you, your Imperial M-majesty." The sword at her belt began to pull from the scabbard, handle out toward Varanin, for her inspection. "A V-v-vuh-Verd." She slapped the side of her hair, pushing it back in its tight arrangement and taking a stiff breath in. "Anandi is the work of Isley Verd, forged in Castle Ne'tra. She is my prize. A competent and ever ready extension of my own skill. Do you approve, Empress?"

Beyond the stutters was an iron wit, the cavalcade of insanities brought with them a sizeable mind still game for the fight at hand.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ahani Najwa"]

[member="Jared Starchaser"] got a firm nod of acknowledgement.

Ashin wasn't in the habit of reading minds, and Masters' minds less than most, but surface thoughts tended to drift in. Inquisitor Najwa was all over the place. That moment of stillness when the stutter ended, though -- that was something unusual. Again her eyes flicked up to the stormtrooper, and a bleak smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"I approve of whatever keeps you centered, Inquisitor." Force, she fell back into this easily. Too easily.

She'd worn a lot of masks in her time. A young Jedi Knight had transitioned, in exigent circumstances, into a Sith Lord, over the course of years. Then, over years, she'd used a false Dark Side signature to mask a painstaking transition into a person who could look at herself in a mirror. She'd done everything in her power to put the Dark Side behind her, and her addictions too. The endless, gnawing hunger of Force Drain, the constant yearning of a glitbiter. She had come a long, long way, sacrificed everything she could sacrifice short of her life and her marriage.

And then Odium had wrecked everything.

There was no way back, but this fit, better than anything but Spencer had in...years now. On a fundamental level, she was tired of reshaping herself to avoid the sneers of the bulk of the Jedi Order. She was tired of doing pointless work with a weak mandate while the galaxy burned; she was tired of propping up something that claimed virtue without a shred of function. Good intentions and claims to moral high ground had absolutely, comprehensively failed to hold together anything worthwhile. After Alderaan, Carida, Teta, Coruscant, Teta again, that was flat-out irrefutable.

"Makashi?"

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

The moment... the very moment Najwa entered the conference room, her gaze was drawn to the woman like a spider unto a fly. That she should draw Liet's attention as such was an undeniable irritation. Undeniable, yet not intolerable, though her very presence was nothing less than noise. It was, however, but one shade of reality, one turn of the face of truth. It was therein that tolerance and acceptance were found. Let it never be said that she was in the dark in any form other than that which was provided by the absence of light.

The oversized stormtrooper spoke, Najwa spoke. The fighter pilot spoke, Na'varro spoke, and the Empress did as well... and not one spoke to her. Nor did she vocalize anything herself. It was as it should be - it was far too easy for them to forget she was there. It was far too easy for her to be forgettable. Everything was as it should be.

Three of the four people who knew of Liet - who and what she is, what she does - were in this very room. Who she was, for those who knew, was not on the record... and what she did was watch, listen, and know - the specifics of which were also no-where to be found. What she knew could turn a great many things and people sideways, if not inside-out.

Sometimes, hands had to be dirtied to accomplish the latter.

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

"When the situation calls for it. Makashi is my restraint and poise, a form for the days where mental games are played on fields and not here." Ahani's shoulder shrugged, neck muscles twitching on the side as she touched her knuckle to her temple. Her eyes flickered round, taking stock through the reflective transparisteel and yet her face centred on the Empress [member="Ashin Varanin"]. "Djem So, when a raging brute will strike the opponents down with fear, the tang was meant to slice, yet it keeps its stabbing edge. Ataru when I forget the taste of flying, when freedom means more than how tired we get when our good graces are drained." Ahani's silver eyes flickered again. Her wrist flexed, fingers curled inward. "Shii-Cho fits the blade as well as Makashi fits her. Conservation is as much art as the billowing thunders of Djem So, or the expansionist dominant will of Ataru."

A lilting rumble of soft laughter filtered from her lungs to her voice box, twittering out of sweeping tender lips as those crisp silver eyes grew distant. "I've looked upon many planets below and set the mind to conquering. Each conquest had its own pursuits. For today, Empress, for Haladen my mind returns to Makashi. Restraint and poise. . . the people are hungry. . . oh, we're not talking about that yet. I'm sorry, Empress I got the timing wrong. Too far I've seen." Ahani leaned an inch closer, her voice dropping to a husk in the air. What form would Varanin duel with today? The Majesty and Power of Djem So booming like thunder, or the effortless simplicity of Shii-Cho? Soresu, surely not the woman had no reason to be defensive in this, her rightful calling. Ahani felt the pulse of the Empress through the air, memorized and learned it. An Empress Secure was an Empress long lasting. "Your people below will waiver as your people above will waiver. Just as I waiver between Makashi, Ataru and Djem So. But their hunger means more. How much better it will be when we've all filled our bellies on our best hopes and dreams. I'm glad you like the sword, your Majesty."

Futures and pasts attacked the Inquisitor's present state of mind. She was a woman banished from time, as if some great piece of herself had been captured and stowed away, deep in crystalline slumber to be awoken and played with only by the most invidious of keepers. Ahani's presence in the Force pitched itself into precognitions and mental analyses, unconventional but unrelenting. She bowed for the Empress and waited to be allowed back her sword, hopeful that the Empress would know better than to cut herself upon it.

Unexpected benders would do no one good.

 

[Torill Holgor]

[member="Ashin Varanin"] [member="Alen Na'Varro"]


Torill flew in a very non descript shuttle with the bare necessity on it in a gamble that no one would bother with a single shuttle that carried nothing of importance to anyone. He was dressed as he always dress in attire similar to Senatorial Robes with his Enforcer Pistol in a holster on his hip. He carried a bag with him containing some basic light armor just encase he needed it.

Torill new very little of this new Empire that had sprung up but he knew they would need Political support to gain and maintain a loyal following among the populous and they would need it in the form of a man who could also hold his own in a fight. Torill was that man and he was coming to say hello and hopeful sing on if they would take him.

Has the shuttle approached the massive Star Destroyer Torill hailed the mighty vessel.

"Tulak Hord-class Star Destroyer Gorgon this is Torill Holgor requesting permission to dock." "I heard you guys needed the help and came to offer it."

 

[Aran Finn]

[member="Ahani Najwa"], his hand-picked Grand Inquisitor, was the first to arrive. She was insane, Na'Varro noted with approval. Just as insane as he had hoped. How that woman had given birth to the placid, in-control Manu Xextos was a mystery to the powerful Sith Lord. She was a powerful ally, unpredictable and utterly crazed ... enough to drive a man like Na'Varro mental with frustration. Luckily, the Empress took Najwa off his hands.

Through tricks no doubt picked up from Kitt, he noted a few things had changed about the Empress' demeanour. He said nothing. Instead, he left them to it and greeted [member="Jared Starchaser"] instead. The man had been hiding within the Fringe for months, and his involvement would bring with it added strength. Na'Varro did the math ... one Star Destroyer, an elite starfighter wing. An asset indeed. Eyeing the man, he shook his hand, noting the lightsaber hanging at his belt.

"Wing Commander, it's a pleasure." His eyes flitted over the man, absorbing information. Military posture, Imperial Knight, pilot first, swordsman second, natural leader, no salute ... yet, knows his position. His black uniform matched Na'Varro's own. The Sith Lord knew that he could convince Starchaser to stay. His head inclined towards Starchaser's vessel, the ImpStarDeuce that floated within the viewport's reach. "Nice ship. I have one too. Upkeep costs though ... they're a queen."

Na'Varro eyes flicked briefly over to [member="Inkara Liet"], a small smile crawling up his face. As invisible as always, she was his bogeyman. His silencer. She did what needed doing. That was when his intercom clicked to life.

"Sir, there is a [member="Torill Holgor"] asking permission to dock?"

"You've run checks?"

"He's clean, sir."

"Invite him in. I'm sure we can deal with any inconveniences." Na'Varro looked over to Varanin briefly and nodded. Soon, his mind said. They just needed a little more time.

 

[Torill Holgor]

Torill nodded as they were given permission to land find the first open spot closest to the exit back into space for the Pilot to land. Havign the benefit of packing light Torill picked up the only thing he had the bag by his seat and carried it down to the open loading ramp out into the dock to the two waiting guards. Setting the bag down Torill smiled as they asked, or at least that is how Torill choose to interpret it, to search the bags and him.

"If you could please escort me to the bridge once you are satisfied I wish to speak to the Captain or whomever is in charge."

Torill smiled as they balked at his words removing his Slugthrower Pistol from the holster. Torill made no attempted to stop them instead speaking softly to the two men.

"Careful it packs quite a kick."

Torill stood smoothing out his clothing as the guards forwarded his request to be taken to the Bridge to speak with [member="Alen Na'Varro"]

 

[Kassandra Distorith]

It was the very inception of a glorious future.

A smile would have curled the woman's lips had she been wearing the shape she called her own. But she was not, and her current form demanded a quiet and attentive dignity befitting the guards arrayed near each of the doors to the conference room. Bright green eyes peered out of rugged, masculine features, sliding around the room in a slow circuit, drinking in the sight of those assembled there. Nominatives and physical appearance details committed to her perfect memory for later reference and perusal.

An Empire.

Ana finally deemed her observation sufficient for the time being, and stepped away from the post her guard form had been occupying. The sleek uniform rippled along with her flesh, as the tall, muscular soldier melted into a seemingly delicate and slender woman with a profusion of burgundy curls that fell past her shoulders. Ever-shifting silver eyes fell upon the Empress, to whom she offered a brief, formal bow, then continued to each of the others, to whom she accorded a respectful nod.

 

[Corey's OOC]

Nothing to see here.

 

[Jared Starchaser]

Jared nodded at @Alen Na’Varro. It was a bit of a ballsy move, not saluting, seeing as the latter was in uniform, but it seemed that they were on a casual setting, at least to the Starchaser. Looking between the groups, he smiled as Alen continued. The ImpStarDeuce? It was hard to keep in shape.

“It’s been a bit of work, keeping it and overhauling it. We’ve moved some decks into a machine shop and are pretty self sufficient on the design of it, as well as our older TIE models.” It helped to have that level of control on the ship. “But she won’t let you down.”

Neither the people aboard, nor this Empire of the Hand movement. It wasn’t going to be much to get the pilot to stay, this was what he was learning, what he needed to be. A pilot and working for an Imperial goal.

 

[Skyler]

Star Destroyer

Lower Levels - Very Important Lab

"Don't tell me those organelles aren't photo-sythesizing," Felicity pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose with purpose. "Would you want to go...up there to tell the bosses that?"

Hazel-eyes drifted to the ceiling as her lab-assistant stammered and shook her head.

"Yes, I agree. They are scary. Forcers, inquisitors that," she shivered, "and socially-repressed stormtroopers."

The assistant nodded and made a comment.

"I agree, it is creepy not seeing their faces. Kind of like clowns."

Another quip from the assistant.

"Yes, I realize I've never seen a clown but I've researched them. Don't judge me, Sarah. Right, let's get back to these organelles."

Lapcoat swished along the back of her legs as she went back to studying the sample slides.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ahani Najwa"] received her sword once more.

"Every Form has its place," she agreed blandly, once the Inquisitor's verbose allegory had settled in. "On balance, I find I lead like Makashi. Position, leverage, timing, restraint, ten thousand degree plasma through the heart at the opportune moment. Something I picked up a while back." Under Krayt, and in the centuries since, and not as Ashin Varanin.

Her gaze flitted to [member="Alen Na'Varro"], caught the message in his look, shared it, moved back to the Inquisitor. "In person, and minus the metaphor, Shii-Cho is what I prefer. Perhaps we'll have a moment to..." She shrugged eloquently. "Regardless. Tell me about Inquisitor Liet. She looks...very young."

 

[Allyson Locke]

So back at it, an Empire. Spencer thought silently while she looked at herself in the mirror. A red crayon moved against her soft lips as they were stained with the ruby color. It was something different, something she had grown fond of in these past few months. Standing after she finished tousling her hair, she cleaned up the corners of her lips. Taking in the sight of herself in the tight black dress, she slipped into a pair of simple black heels. Nothing outlandish, but nothing too plain. She was the wife of the Empress, history has a way of repeating itself…doesn’t it.

It was easy to fall back into the role, though this time around she wasn’t some cowardly apprentice trying to stay alive above everything. Here though, her role was different yet she was convinced that some would over look her as the pretty face on Ashin’s arm. Spencer pitied them, especially if they decided to cross her or attempt to cross Ashin. There was a reason Ashin kept Spencer around during their first few months together, of course that reason changed and grew to what it was now, but there was something that Ashin saw in her – trusted in her if Spencer could go that far when she spoke of it. It was in the past and still the sound of glitterstim and that harsh beat of a bar made her blush.

Even thinking about it now, she blushed. Moving along the hallways towards the appointed conference room, Spencer slipped in listening to the conversations of the room. Figuring she wasn’t noticed by many, especially since [member="Ashin Varanin"] was in the room and everyone needed or wanted the poor woman’s attention. Waiting for the right moment and knowing the hours since they had last seen each other, Spencer caught the woman’s gaze and very subtly she bit her lower lip, then broke the stare. It was time to see the iron will of the Empress. Now she stood quiet, taking in every face in the room, filing them away for other business if she ever needed to memory walk through her mind to find their face.

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

"It does a ruler well to follow the Makashi way. And it does a ruler's Grand Inquisitor to follow Djem So wrapped in the velvet of a Padawan's Ataru. Leaps and tosses, when seen from further back are exemplary in quality." Anandi was sheathed in the scabbard with a flourish and a bow. The Echani's muscles smoothed as the sword was locked in its' sheath, she found herself in an odd enjoyment of combative strategy with this new Empress, wife of an Echani Queen. Without the Queen would Ahani have felt the interest of imperialism into her crystalline bones? Would the taints and bolts of the galaxy's fortunes strike at her rag-tag mind and give it a purpose beyond the dens and backwater holes of glitterstim dealers and private merchants of nefarious design? A Matron loyal to her House was a Matron of Standing, and in this new era were not many Echani descended from her three children? There had been so few in the days of Palpatine's fissure. So few when her daughter-in-law came to the Throne of the Kae. Allegiance built with blood was an allegiance built of adamantine will. "I look forward to the discovery, Majesty."

Spencer walked in and Ahani smiled. She couldn't help the swell of pride that her race had produced the rightful right hand of another Empress. [member="Ashin Varanin"] and [member="Spencer Jacobs"] would rule the Galaxy and Ahani would see it happen.

"Inquisitor Liet does not exist. She is a figment of your imagination, my liege. And as those of us are aware the imagination is a clever thing, it plays such wonderful games and cruel tricks. Look again. There's no such thing as [member="Inkara Liet"], and let a Grand Inquisitor have her small bag of tricks. The young are young but once, before the end. Then death or age will mar them. And the stern command of sullen, bowed backs will take them all but the exceptionally gifted. And those of us that are left will be so with the wisdom to know when to listen to our minds, and when to hear the whispers of the universal currents. [member="Alen Na'Varro"] thinks me mad, and I am an angry thing. He would know. In the day of his youth, I was laying waste to Thyrsus, Eshan and Wodenstam. I levelled my millions and they bowed before the yolk of my Echanar's design.

Yet to that call, the love of a parent knows less bounds than the bounds of a mate. I saved my son, of whom you know well - or better than most - and thus we have our meeting. And you have seen a sword with the blade's edge of Ixetal Colis poison and I have found use for this newly wakened cosmos, which differed little from my dreams. My Empress no vision of your wife's is small. I am the least of those who can speak to it, but if my rumour is true and she has but one drop of my blood in her veins . . . there is no power greater than the power which keep Shii Cho simple and true, and which power lays to Makashi rulers on their adamantine thrones."

Upon her finger, a line of blood descending to the floor in slow, timid drops.

Ahani had cut herself on her sword. The eyes of wild hallucinations had dilated and shifted. What this woman was, was no simple affair.

'Liet is my unknowable wrath. She will be the cold hand of your shadows.' A break in Najwa's mental facade, her words fell dumb from her lips and a stutter shook her body. Ahani Najwa bowed and turned away, as her shoulder began to uncontrollably twitch. What facade was love, which could to the cruel deed so so vainly.

The madness in her mind and body was built of love, the love of the wronging man, who she yet wished slumbered in his imprisonment yet feared more the checking. If one wanted a Temple of Love they needed look no further, or no far than a broken-minded Echani Master with a weapon of poison and a mind arrayed in tangles and impassioned entwines.