"Pick up the pace, traitor," the Stormtrooper beside [member="Connor Harrison"] mumbled through his helmet, prodding the former Jedi with the end of his blaster.
Other than that and the three pairs of echoing footsteps, the hallway was silent which made the creaking of the double doors all the more potent as they opened ahead of the figures.
The sight within wasn't an overwhelming show of power. There were no platforms or thrones shrouded in darkness as one might have expected. Instead they had entered an art gallery. The troopers continued leading their prisoner further inside the gallery, setting a brisk march past numerous paintings, portraits and sculptures before coming to a halt before a small figure.
The profile of Samka Derith, Master of the Knights of Ren, cut an unassuming figure. Short in stature and petite in frame, she wore a higher class green dress tied around the waist while holding a small cream parasol in delicate fingers. She looked far from an agent of the Dark Side, instead passing for a young affluent member of society. But looks were deceiving. The girl made no effort to hide her aura from Connor, the Dark Side oozed out from her, strong, potent and cold. So very cold that the Stormtroopers at the side seemed about to shiver.
Likewise she could feel the Dark Side was stronger in Harrison than it had been when they'd worked together, she found it curious but her corrupted crimson eyes didn't yet give him the pleasure of acknowledgement. Instead they remained glued to a painting directly in front of her. The artwork portrayed a building, a temple of some kind, amongst sand dunes. It was engulfed in blue flame, in a state of collapse with figures desperately attempting to flee the scene.
"This is my favourite piece here," Samka's voice that familiar refined, strong but youthful tone. "I do so adore the way the colours blend together, blue flames among blue skies." She paused, her gaze falling down to a dying figure burning in the painting's distance. "I don't suppose you'd know the story here. It was little over two centuries ago, during the Galactic Dark Age. The plague hit us as hard as everyone else, the First Order and the Knights of Ren hid in the far flung corners of the galaxy, unable to reclaim our rightful position while incurable disease ravaged the galaxy but we were still there, preparing for the return. Unfortunately, when you exist in a vacuum so far from other civilisations, people can become... decadent, forgetful of their duties. Even the Knights of Ren. The Grandmaster during this era was a good, powerful man with such strength in the Dark Side he supposedly toppled two rebellions single handily. Unfortunately the rest of the Order was not so virtuous. Moral decadence afflicted the ranks. Selfishness and disloyalty flourished and the Ren began to commit acts considered criminal. They abused their power to indulge in personal pleasures. They became less than a shadow of what they were meant to be. So," Samka motioned to the picture with a flick of her wrist, "they all burned so we could start anew. The Grandmaster? Despite all that he offered, he burned too. What good is a Ren Master who cannot control his underlings?"
Samka turned away from the painting for the first time to look up Connor's figure. Her face crossed by a dark shadow and tone venomous as she continued, "I am not going to burn, Harrison. I am putting the house in order." There was another pause as Samka's face twisted into a mocking smile, "Welcome home. We have so much to discuss."
