Private The Songs of Angry Men

[Vulpesen]

It wasn't always that Vulpesen came to his friends dressed in the same garb that he brought to battle. But in times like this, a statement needed to be made. He had lived long enough to see the turning of the wheel, and he could see it now more starkly than ever. The Alliance was failing. Its planets were falling like dominoes. Its people were losing faith. The jedi couldn't decide their purpose, and even still, their grip tightened on the political reins. He had seen this before. The final days of the Republic, in the moments before it had come crashing down like the sith dreadnaught in the Coruscanti sky. The sith were rising once more. They had already taken the core. how long until they expand to the colonies and the inner rim? How long until they come to Veradune? Already, his people were a stones throw from the front lines. What's more, every day he saw promise after promise fail. The Wilders were nothing more than backwoods cults to the Jedi and the Alliance as a whole. Veradune's proud traditions were ignored or eschewed. Vulpesen himself could barely walk on Coruscant without feeling the eyes of self-righteous paladins who believed him a threat. It was time to leave. To sing a new song.

Naboo had at least kept its beauty while the galaxy around it burned. Of that, Vulpesen was grateful. He would be even more grateful once he laid eyes on the one he came to meet. Ra'a'mah , who had been informed of the importance of this meeting, was certainly one of his greatest friends. He'd be lying if he didn't often consider her as something more, though what that was, was often undefined even to him. But, at the very least, he knew he trusted her with his life. What's more, she had connections, connections that would give him the leverage to do what he planned. Together, they had built the Dark Hand to stem the tide of the sith threat. They had formed a rapidly deployed bulwark for targets that were to valueable to leave to sith hands. But it was time for something different. Their mission had been maintained for decades, but it was starting to fail. They needed something more resolute. Something more permanent. They needed to be something more.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

For the last decade or so, Ra had lived in a comfortable peace. As that time passed, she knew it wasn't going to last. When Vulpesen called upon her again, she knew the peace was ending. Her time in almost seclusion was over, and the Hand was needed again. Together, they would work to bring about change. Just how much of a change was to be seen.

Vulpesen was always welcome in her home, and Vincent greeted him when he arrived. Opening the door, he guided the Zorren to where Ra was reclining in a chair. She stood up with a smile, but could tell something had his dander up, and it faded.

"Vincent, get us drinks, please."

Yes, she had been informed of the importance of the meeting, but she still smiled at her friend. However brief it might have been.

"What's going on?"

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

VAs the door was opened, a part of Vulpesen's thunderous cloud dissipated. How could it not in the face of a ghost? What's more, this was no high sith lord, and to the best of his recollection, the Valde couldn't think of a time he had dedicated himself to the mission of bringing the favored butler of the Numare household back from the grave. "You're alive," he whispered as they walked to where Ra'a'mah waited "I'm glad." How didn't matter. Just that the old man was standing was a blessing in of itself. Vincent knew how to pour a drink to the Zorren's tastes.

As Ra dismissed the man to make said perfect drinks, Vulpesen took a seat himself, his head hanging down a bit as he composed himself. "The Alliance is failing. They're trying to bring it back, but I can hear the death rattle. The Jedi are fractured but still grasping at control. The sith are winning battle after battle. Grand masters and elders have run off to places unknown. The political machine is paralyzed, even with my people pressing hard on the scales. The wheel is turning once more. Its the rise of the One Sith all over again." His head lifted up, bright eyes like pools of gold focusing on Ra'a'mah with the heated fury of a crucible. "I'm tired of it. I hate seeing the wheel turn to crush what's good, even if it comes back in the end. We need to stop it. The Hand needs to stop the wheel, but it can't. Not as it is now. We have waxed and waned like the moon for too long. Its time we turn into something else. Its time we blaze like a solar star."