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."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

"Yes, sir. Mistress Numare brought me back and has allowed me to continue serving her and her family. I will return shortly with the drinks."

Keeping to his formal nature, he disappeared and brought the requested drinks. Once again, the old man faded away and became a background figure. Someone who was always present, but only visible when needed. His charisma was present in the house, and his leadership was as muted as usual, but his touch was everywhere.

Sipping at the familiar burn, she was glad to be sharing this with her friend. A man who was so much more than a simple friend. Drawing in a breath as he spoke and setting her glass down, she allowed him to finish. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to what was going on, especially with Veradune and the Alliance. Ra wasn't part of it, and it only played a minor role in her life.

She had kept herself uninvolved in politics for several years now, but hearing his words, she knew that she needed to change. Leaning forward in her chair, she nodded.

"What of your sister?"

As both a master and elder, she was sure Jairdain would have a role to play in the future of the Hand. Just as much as she or Vulps.

"I'm not one to step into the light of focus. Do you think that's something I should change?"

Lifting an eyebrow, she leaned back and sipped at her drink again.

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

After finding a seat, Vulpesen accepted the glass gratefully, his tail sweeping around to rest in his lap. His ears flicked as he sipped at the concoction and listened to Ra'a'mah 's concerns. They were certainly fair given the state of the galaxy and the enormity of the problem that he had just dropped into her lap. "Jairdain has a wisdom to her, but I feel like she often has her own issues that need addressing. She's a reliable ally and I love her dearly, but I don't believe she would be fit for the head of our organization. As for you, I have to disagree with your self-assessment." He adjusted in his seat, his eyes sweeping over his long time friend. "It seems that everywhere we go, you find allies and friends. I'm happy to provide the military might and a rousing speech when you need it, but as a figure head, I believe that you would be our best option. You've a habit of making connections which makes you perfect as a diplomatic leader."

His eyes moved to his glass and he studied the swirling amber for a moment. "Veradune has long stepped from the shadows. Its time we stepped to the fore. I'll lead the troops, train them, and prepare them for the fight to come. But we'll need allies. In that endeavor, you will be the key. I've been reliably informed that I can be too brash and harsh at times. I need a more delicate approach. That approach is you."

 

[Ra'a'mah]

"That's the business aspect of me that makes the allies and connections. Friends are scarce in my field, and you should be aware of that, Vulps."

One of the hardest things for Ra to do, even now, was to trust people enough to allow them close. She could probably count on one hand those she considered friends. He, Stardust, and Jairdain. She couldn't dismiss her husband, but he wasn't always around, and they pretty much lived their own lives.

"So I guess I need lessons on becoming a diplomatic leader."

Sipping the drink, she set it down and leaned closer as he studied his own glass. Lifting a hand, she was going to disagree once again, but then thought on it. Getting a bit of a flat look on her face, he was one of the few she would freely show her emotions to.

"You think I am delicate?"

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen chuckled softly to himself as he listened to the woman's reluctance. His ears flicked towards Ra, showing his undivided attention, even as his eyes trained themselves on the swirling liquid in his glass. "Only in the diplomatic sense. Lucas one threatened to remove all the windows from my council room so there'd be no cleanup when I 'inevitably' defenestrated someone." He looked up, a dangerous mischief glinting in his golden eyes. "In my defense, I can only hear the suggestion of raising taxes so many times before it taxes my patience."

He regathered his thoughts with another long sip, the drink rapidly dwindling in volume through their, thus far, brief discussion. "You've a calm mind and a steady hand. I'm prone to fits of passionate oration, and when it fails, I find it all too tempting to beat the sense into my opposition. That will not gain us allies. At least, not at the scale we desire. Mercantilism is a step away from diplomacy. That much I've learned. You forget that I was raised in that world, and the VSF isn't fairing too badly under my control. But still, as an arms dealer can afford to be brash sometimes. I feel like as a transport service, you might be more prone to the delicate touch."

Ra'a'mah

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah let a faint smile ease the corner of her mouth as Vulpesen's tale of threatened defenestration and taxation drifted between them. She folded her hands in her lap, posture relaxed but attentive—the kind of stillness that suggested she heard everything and chose her words with care.

"Threats of window removal are a blunt kind of humor," she said softly, amused. "Far easier to clean than a ruined reputation, but not nearly as effective when you need allies."

Her gaze met his for a beat, steady and even. "You speak honestly about temperament and trade, and that honesty is useful. Brashness moves markets; restraint holds them. Both have their season. Where one breaks things open, the other keeps them from crumbling afterward."

She inclined her head toward him, voice even. "A transport service must be more than a carriage and a route. It must be a promise that goods, people, and obligations arrive intact, and that the hands that receive them understand the line between profit and provocation. That is the delicate touch you've described."

Ra'a'mah's expression softened into something like resolve. "I can temper momentum with discretion. I can build networks that prefer discreet passage to spectacle. If your operations sometimes demand a bolder stroke, think of mine as the scaffold: steady, dependable, and discreetly present when the dust settles."

She paused, measuring the distance between politeness and pragmatism. "If we're talking partnership rather than patronage, then we should define expectations now, what risks are acceptable, which cargos are off the table, and what political cover you expect in return. I will not be the noise that attracts trouble, but I will be the hand that ensures your work keeps moving when diplomacy fails."

A faint, almost imperceptible lift of her chin finished the thought. "You run a bold house. I run on a quiet road. Together, we can make the journey count."

He was slowly talking her into his plans, even if she didn't feel she was entirely ready. Their movement wasn't called the Dark Hand without a good reason. She was the body, and their people were the hand and her fingers.

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

"Sure. Humor," he replied with a smirk which was soon hidden behind his glass. Ra'a'mah 's next words came with a shift. Vulpesen's eyes narrowed in response. He was no longer talking to the woman that he fought beside a dozen times. He was no longer talking to the woman he had held in his arms and heart. This was a new person altogether, a person he had not spoken to since their first meeting all those years ago. She was a pragmatist who understood motive, trade, and commerce. In himself, Vulpesen felt the same shift, memories of a young boy on Amar learning from his master in both the ways of the force and of trade.

"I can cover the bold strokes you're talking about. VSF and Veradune as a whole are devoted to military action. We can form the backbone of the army, and our code can form the backbone of a codified law. I have no issue with being the face of this new movement and its engine for action. But I need someone who can fill a network. I cannot guide a people that are not unified. I need you to build that network and be the one to promote that unity." His tail flicked idly in his lap. This could be the start of something grand. But it was only the start.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra's eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in quiet focus. The shift Vulpesen felt was real, yet beneath it, the unbroken thread of their history remained. He was still the man who had stood beside her through danger, who had loved her, supported her, and shared in both losses and victories. That knowledge softened the edge of her pragmatism, though she would never let it dilute her clarity.

"You frame it well," she said, voice even and deliberate. "You will hold the face; I will build the spine. Both are necessary. Both must be capable of acting without exposing the other."

She set the glass down carefully, outlining what she would require, each point precise and non-negotiable:

• Trusted nodes — vetted local leaders, chosen for loyalty and skill first, origin second.
• Secure communications — dead drops, coded couriers, merchant covers. No single channel can be severed.
• Funding & logistics — VSF materiel and merchant lines to move men and supplies; paper trails that never point back to us.
• Intelligence flow — eyes in key locations; actionable reports on troop movements and political friction.
• Autonomy to recruit and remove — authority to place and, if necessary, excise agents without prolonged debate.

Her gaze softened briefly, betraying just the slightest recognition of what he meant to her. "I will not build a network beholden to politics or popularity. It must serve a purpose and be ruthlessly effective. If you are the engine and the face, then you must accept that I will forge the mechanisms that keep that face safe and the engine fueled."

A quiet exhale. "We both know what unity looks like in theory and what it costs in practice. I will take the work of binding the people you cannot reach, of shaping them with more than words. In return, I expect access, resources, and freedom to operate where shadows matter more than speeches."

For a fleeting heartbeat, memory brushed her tone—a reminder of shared histories, of battles, of a man she could always trust. "We were different people once," she said softly. "You remain the man I have always known—my friend, my confidant. And when the paths we walk diverge, I know where I will stand."

She inclined her head, resolute. "Name the time and place. I will bring names, structures, and a first draft of the network map. If you approve it, we begin."

And as she spoke, beneath the steel of her pragmatism, a quiet thought lingered: when the wars end and the debts of the galaxy are paid, she would return to him—always to him.

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen listened to each word, his clawed fingers tapping against his glass. Ambition feuled by pragmatism. It was perhaps waht had originally drawn him to the woman. It was what allowed Ra to hold his undying respect, event throughout the years. It wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy being there for her softer more emotional side, but there was certainly a comfort in knowing that emotion would not cloud her decisions. "Its a start. But on the matter of politics, perhaps that should change as well. Maybe not immediately, but I don't want us to be a thorn in the sith's side. Your proposal will add to our barbs, but we'll remain a thorn." His eyes narrowed and his dagger like nails dug lightly into his glass. "I want to be the spear that goes through their very heart. In the past when they struck at one of ours, we banded together to hurt them. I want to be the one that strikes first, and I want to destroy them."

He drained the remainder of his drink and set it aside. As he leaned forward, his tail unwrapped form his lap and swayed behind him. "We'll need armies. My Armis and Tenevi can form the basis for a military and spynet, but we'll need to grow from there. Unforuantely, that scale will require a form of bureaucracy. I have no interest in ruling over a coalition of planets, but we'll need rules to work together. A process for agreements to be reached and grievances to be settled. Thankfully, I think that can come at a later date." His fingers tapped on his knee as he glanced around room. "I can agree to keep you in the shadows for as long as I can. But as we grow, as we gain legitimacy, the light may end up being shed upon you. I doubt this will work if I try to rule with an iron fist or any sort of autocracy."

Ra'a'mah

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra watched him as his words sharpened, as the old temper of the fighter flared into the strategist she had always respected. She did not flinch at the hunger in his voice—if anything, it clarified the shape of the task.

"You make your intent plain," she said, quiet and deliberate. "A spear that strikes first. I will not pretend that vengeance alone makes for sound strategy, but neither will I hide from the necessity of decisive action when the moment demands it."

She folded her hands, the motion calm as a practiced breath. "Accept this: to destroy an enemy, you must first map its pulse. Rage without knowledge is a lightning strike that kills the wielder as often as the target. We build the map; then we choose where to drive the spear."

Her terms, stated with the same economy as before:

• Phase one — network and intelligence. Nodes in place, secure communications, actionable reports. No large-scale moves until we understand command, logistics, and reach.
• Phase two — targeted strikes. Covert actions designed to destabilize infrastructure and command, always with plausible deniability. These will be surgical, not wide-wound.
• Phase three — expansion and legitimacy. As coalitions form and armies grow, a governing framework can be introduced to bind allies without suffocating speed.

She met his insistence on armies with level regard. "Armis and Tenevi provide a strong spine. They will be the core of our field force, but we must train and integrate auxiliaries—local militias vetted and conditioned to our standards. Bureaucracy is inevitable at scale; it need not be a cage. It must be a toolkit: fast conventions, emergency authorities, sunset clauses for extraordinary powers."

Her eyes softened, not sentimentally, but in recognition. "You want to strike at their heart. So do I. I will craft the channels that let you do it without exposing everything we build."

A caution followed, steady and uncompromising. "There will be a cost. There will be losses. You ask to be the spear; accept that the spear will be blamed when the wound bleeds. We must build redundancy, scapegoats, and escape routes. You must allow me the authority to remove nodes or commanders whose ambition outstrips discipline. No coalition survives otherwise."

She poured them each another drink, then set her glass down with a firmness that made the point. "Keep me in the shadows while I can work there. Give me access to your materiel, to channels of funding, and to the political cover to move men and goods. Let me place the first nodes and vet the first commanders. Approve the network map I deliver, and we strike where it hurts."

Her voice dropped, almost private. "When the light comes, I will not be content only to hide. I will step into it if it must be done. But we choose when that happens—not the enemy."

She inclined her head toward him, a pact and a promise both. "Very well. We begin where strength matters most: with knowledge, structure, and the means to act. Name a council—small, trusted—and I will bring the first names and the first map. We do this together, Vulpesen. As we always have."

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

"My people are at your disposal, as always." Lucas had learned long ago that Ra had captured more than the Valde's heart. She had a claim to every resource he had, and his diplomatic envoys were expected to trust her judgement in any dossiers that were passed along their desks. Harlow, his excelsus of the Armis had been fought alongside her during the Brynadul crisis. He trusted and revered her almost as much as the Valde he served. Ineros Amaris was the current Excelsus of the Tenevi. In truth, Vulpesen's relationship with the man was almost entirely professional. They were friendly, but the spymaster was so busy with reports that he rarely had time for a drink off the clock. He was, perhaps, the hardest working person on Veradune outside of the Valde. Part of that job was keeping up to date on all developments with members of the hand and Ra'a'mah was at the top of that list.

"Sounds like a plan. Prepare. Harass. Then crush the enemy. Don't worry about you're freedom to operate. I trust you enough to know you'll stay on a good path. And a large part of me coming to you is because I know that you'll do a better job of finding qualified individuals than I ever could." He sighed softly and continued to tap on his knee. "Keep an eye out for any political functions. Gracin has been telling me that I need to attend more balls and courts outside our atmosphere. Something about political expectations and allies."

Ra'a'mah

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra let the words settle between them, the weight of his offer acknowledged in the slowness of her breath. She did not waste gratitude on grand speeches—trust and resources were currency better spent than praised.

"Your people will be useful," she said, voice steady. "Harlow and Ineros are competent; their names will be on the first manifest. Give them my criteria, and I will vet and place them. Keep channels clean—need‑to‑know only."

Her gaze sharpened, not unkind but absolute. "Politics is a net and a tool. Attend the functions. Appear when necessary; withdraw when you must. Presence buys allies. Absence buys suspicion. I will not ask you to dance for public favor, but I will ask you to be present when opportunity needs a face."

She tapped the rim of her glass once. "There is a coronation on Naboo soon that will bring the right people together. We will arrive together—one party, discreet, unremarkable. Use the event for cover, for contacts, and for sightlines into courts you do not normally see. Seek no glory there—only information and favor. I will show you the first network map once we are in place."

A shadow of something older passed through her expression—promise, pact, and the ache of private futures kept carefully folded away. "Prepare your people. Give me their dossiers. We move with care and with purpose. Together."

Vulpesen