Keenava Dira

Vivid ire hung like a thick murky cloud in the Twi’lek’s mind as drivel continued to pour from the woman’s crooked mouth. Before she could continue her petulant display, fingers of cold dread extended outward, clamping against the woman’s neck and slamming her to the hull of her ship. Her back clattered against the cold steel bulkhead in a raucous display of force. But the action was swift and decisive. Carefully, the Sith Lord extinguished her blade and replaced it at her hip. The spectral hand that clasped at Drilcea’s larynx left the woman just enough room to breathe but kept it tight enough to hurt, hanging her body inches from the deck plating. “One - for your first lesson - NEVER yell at someone who is leveling a blade at you. That is a good way to die if you attempt to return to Korriban and seek different means to learn. Two, I get to do what I need to do to finish my duty. That is my prerogative. YOU, however, don’t get to claim entitlement to a power that escapes your comprehension; a power that I have bled to earn and build; a power that I've sacrificed everything to achieve. Do. You. Understand?” Keenava’s words were clipped and her tone was extremely severe, but she didn't raise her voice. Even when her anger reached a fever pitch, the Twi'lek was still; her words level and measured. The invisible fingers that dug into the woman’s skin trembled at every syllable, yet remained terribly strong. When she resumed her ‘lecture,’ Keenava’s voice took a lethal edge. “What you don't seem to grasp, is that you are messing with something that will change your entire life. You are tainting the core of your soul. You cannot return from this. You will be forever scarred. The fact that I seem to be the only one who cares about your future should tell you something, Princess…" With a casual gesture, Keenava pulled her hood back, maintaining her grip on Drilcea and revealing the ebony black Twi'lek underneath. Hard ruby eyes glowed with fire as they stared at the woman, judging her. “You are a naive fool. You claim to know. You push your power around like it means something to me; like all apprentices do. But power plays are stupid. In the end, there is always someone with more power. There will always be a bigger fish. And with every step to further your own power and ambition, there is a sacrifice. You let something of yourself go with every inch you crawl into the dark. This isn’t about your ship anymore. I was going to give it back. I may be an evil cuss, but I have my moments. No. This is about you making the biggest mistake of your life. This is not a choice to make lightly. I didn't have a second chance. So, I am giving you one.” An all-consuming hunger emerged from the core of Keenava’s being, snuffing the fire of Drilcea’s anger like a candle in a hurricane. Terror, desire, rage, sorrow, hunger, and need, wove together. It was a terrible tapestry of power that welled to the fore of Keenava’s mind. Her fiery red eyes burst into actual crimson flame and her voice took on an ethereal duality that echoed off the metal of the ship. “THIS is how it's going to work. If you submit to my teachings, my word is law. You know nothing. You have nothing except what you earn and what I give to you. If you betray me, the Dark Lord, or the Sith Empire, your life is forfeit. I will be harsh. Your training will be difficult and you will not enjoy it. I will never mark or draw blood from you unless it's appropriate. But that does not mean I will not punish you. By the end, you will be a blade in the dark. You will strike fear in the hearts of those that would oppose you. Or, if you wish to flee and find training with the Jedi or a simpler life in the Galaxy, you can take this ship from Nal Hutta and leave. I promise you, the likelihood of finding a genial Sith to train you in the art you describe is zero. My Master would have done worse for your impudence than I have.” The brilliant red fire faded as Keenava’s form drifted out of visibility, melding with the shadows around her. “That is your choice. I don't need a slave. I don't need dead weight. But if you will forsake everything for the Sith, then I will teach you.” The spectral grip did not abate even as the Twi'lek faded into the shadows. Only the fury of her ruby eyes remained, smoldering with power, waiting to strike.

The woman’s tone and demeanor suggested that she was talking about a night on the town. Her haughty posture hinted at an upbringing of entitlement and straight lace. Keenava’s nose wrinkled in cruel disdain and a small fire smoldered in the ruby of her eyes. “You WISH to learn the dark side of the Force?” Keenava said, handling every word as if it were covered in slime. “What do you think this is, a pleasure cruise?” The Twi’lek was inches away from striking the woman but decided to save the strength in her hand. Her hostage might not listen. The gesture would be wasted. But, the Twi’lek did not raise her voice. She did not lose her temper. Keenava’s words were measured and intense. “I didn’t WANT to be a Sith. In fact, I hesitate to say that there are those that WANT to be a Sith when they start their journey. That isn’t accounting for the legitimately unstable few out there that accept blindly. There is always a reason that one becomes a Sith. And, once the Dark Side holds you, there is no going back. Once you mold yourself to be something you aren’t, you can’t go back. Every night is a nightmare. Every moment is chaos. The Dark Side calls and you answer or it haunts you until your dying day.” Keenava fought the temptation to pace and resolved instead to stare. She resolved not to move and let her disdain simmer with the distance between them. “And, if you have the misfortune of becoming a killer, like me, every person is a target. Every room is broken into escape routes and every conversation is drawn to physical and mental weaknesses. You can’t form attachments because one day you might have to kill them. You draw pleasure from physical excellence and the feel of steel as it rents through flesh. If you WANT that, then why? WHY are you bringing yourself to murderers and thieves? We are the lost and forgotten who forged a path through the ash of our destroyed potential.” Followed by the ghosts of her own happiness, Keenava emphatically pushed each syllable until her sentence stopped. Silence reigned in the ship that even the hum of the engines couldn’t pierce. It was a few moments before Keenava spoke again. “If you can tell me why - If you can SHOW me why - then I will train you myself,” Keenava whispered.

Snap hiss… A crimson blade sparked to life two-inches from the soft skin covering Drilcea’s esophageal pathway. One move and her head would leave her shoulders, spreading her fragile life all over the deck-plating of the Edge’s cargo bay. “The same ‘who’ that is going to kill you where you stand if you attempt to act on that threat. Now, be a good girl and sit in that corner while Otto prepares for liftoff.” Keenava said, her tone lethal and her pace slow. She indicated with the smoldering plasma in her hand at a small part of the cargo bay a few feet from where they both were standing. When Drilcea did as she was told and situated herself, the ship released from the tarmac and maneuvered itself out the star port. Docking procedures were followed and the Dark Edge left just as quickly as it came. “The autopilot has the reigns for now,” Keenava remarked, turning her eyes and the tip of her blade to the robed humanoid. “I am taking your ship for the moment. If you rise to threaten me, I will not hesitate to put you down. If you try to steer the ship or wrest control, I will strike you down. Understand?”

Alright… Looks like I’m heading to Hutt Space. Might be worthwhile to check Nal Hutta and ask around. I might find something there. The obsidian skinned Twi’lek was wreathed in the robes of her trade once more and fiddled with the edge of her hood when her comm device fell silent. The utter lack of information shocked and worried her. Vidaya was normally a font of information – a former slave that ran a slave info network – and anytime she didn’t have information, she would have a direction for Keenava to follow. But nothing? Hutts could generally range from complete showboats to subtle knife-in-the dark criminals. But to have no real information at all was weird and vaguely unsettling. It wasn’t something she was used to and made it incredibly hard to work. Yet, it was Exodus’ will. And, as his shadow hand, it was her task to complete. Keenava’s feet, clasped within the confines of black vornskyr leather, carried her toward the Praxeum’s bustling star port while she strategized. Thoughts danced with her feet and any anxieties withered to dust. With grace, she wove her way through acolytes as they milled to the hand of their shepherd. And, without pause, she worked her way past a few notably strange people before stopping at the feet of several interesting looking ships. Keenava tapped her foot on the metal of the fifth landing pad and worked her way over to a nearby wall panel. When prompted for the transponder code, the machine displayed the name and important info for the docked ship. Hmm… The Ravenhammer sounds more like a racy holo-film and less like a ship. Also, look at the rump, woof. Keenava was engaging in what she liked to call, ‘ship shopping.’ The Twi’lek didn’t own a ship of her own. So, often, she had to steal a ship to get from point A to point B. She was a bit skeptical, stealing a ship from a high-ranking Sith. But the risk of danger made the prospect even more tempting. Exodus’ ship was out of the question - she knew which one that was, and refused to get anywhere near it. His rank and dominion over the Sith Empire as well as her previous indiscretions helped push her from any further carelessness. And, despite the interesting name, the Ravenhammer was too big and blocky for her. So, she let it go, vouching instead to walk down the line and look at the other models. It was this concession that led her eye to a very sleek looking ship at the end of the line. Keenava sprinted the distance toward it, ignoring the robed figure she almost barreled over and gawked at its shape. It looked lethal and dangerous; perfect. She walked over to another wall panel and went through the motions again to get the necessary info. Its name was, ‘The Dark Edge.’ Bloody hell… If you were a lady I’d… Damn Keenava bent down toward her metal leg as if to tie the laces on her boot. Then, with one casual flick, she released the compartment on her prosthetic and retrieved a set of small slicer tools from underneath the hilt of her lightsaber. She wriggled her hands around, pretending to struggle with the 'laces' of her boot and palmed the tools before standing and leaning against the Dark Edge’s landing gear. Her eyes were on a swivel, keeping the focus on any who would notice her, then let her physical form fall into the force, blanketing her in shadow. She slunk her way to the landing prop and worked the ship’s main outer console until the landing platform came down. And, finally, when the platform touched the metal of the tarmac, the shadow hastily departed through the opening. A few curious acolytes noticed the irregularity, but all they saw was a possible ship malfunction. They forwarded the necessary information to the relevant owners and went back to their business. A few switch flips and Keenava could hear the lethal hum of the Dark Edge’s engines as they shuddered to life. Ooooooh… This will be fun

Pant. One leg, then the other. Strike! Stifle the sounds of your feet, of your heart. Heavy breathing; slow. Monitor weight… Silence. Seconds wore into minutes and dragged for what felt like hours. Keenava didn’t stop pushing; she waged a silent war against the weakness that lingered in her heart. Clotho’s cold steel met the warm pads of her grip and snapped out into a barbed whip. She cracked it against a rock, scraping against the hard granite surface. Each barb that didn’t find its mark bit back at Keenava and raked against her arm. Wincing, Keenava struck again and again. Your form is off. Too soon. Too much power. Again… Blood flowed down the delicate skin of her fingers when he called, filling her ear nub with direction; a new challenge. Before, like a herd creature, she followed the will of whatever alien held her leash. Before, she would compromise strength to cower beneath the one that held her under falsehoods. Before, she lashed out with anger and violent emotion. Before, like a child, she accepted ignorance to remain blissful and depend on everyone else to give her everything. This was her choice. Choices had power. She chose Exodus as much as Exodus chose her. She chose to stay a Sith. She chose to train and push. She chose to survive. And it was those choices that led her here. A soft hand rubbed at the crux of her thigh, a leering eye fell on her skin and a cruel liar held her with the soft spinning of his venomous words. No more. Gritty air bit at her mouth. Red sand rubbed at her new calluses. Weapon of the Sith… Shadow hand of the All Father The bane to all those that would betray the Sith. Nightshade Thy will be done. All Father, Lord Exodus

Yes, Master. Her answer was curt; deferent and respectful, but confident. Breathe, side-step, roundhouse, dip, leg sweep, then tumble. Throat punch, fist-to-jaw, knee-to-abdomen, then push through into tumble; follow with a handspring. A sheen of exertion hung upon her stony face as the Twi’lek worked. A myriad of invisible targets surrounded her and assailed her without relent. One inch off; compensate a little. Move to the right instead of the left. At some distance from the Praxeum, Keenava swam in scraps of power to temper her physical talents, which felt lax, especially considering her new limb. It was slow at first, but every new discovery and every little mistake drew her one step closer to what she had before she lost her flesh. And, although Sith relied on the force for abilities that others could not hope to attain, Keenava did as she was taught. Your body is a weapon. Every part of you must be as lethal, if not more than your mind and your tools.The reflex to rely on the force to compensate for her leg was a weakness. She was who she was; there was no denying that now. No one was holding her back, but herself. Determination struck her brow and denied fatigue as it clung to the back of her weary shoulders. Perseverance shined through each discovery, helping her piece together new techniques to adapt and overcome. She awaited her instruction with baited curiosity. But excellence was not something to sit around and hope for. If she wanted to ascend to heights that would nullify her shame, she needed to work; and work beyond the point when mortal hands would tire. Night fell, threatening her with a blanket of doubt, but the power of will pushed her ever forward...

Keenava closed her eyes and waited. Anticipation picked at the edges of her lekku, but she remained patient in the face of oblivion. At least, that's what she thought. When the roughhewn skin of his strong arms hefted her from the coarse sandstone, she thought he was going to break her. Images of men and women who, for much less, abused her mind and body, whirred through the chaos of her mind. But, settled as she was across his shoulders, her lekku splayed about in no particular direction, she lay in bewilderment. This man, the darkest of all, was taking the time to carry her. He was going out of his way - again - to prove that she was worthy of his time even when she'd proven otherwise. Noticing a rose, gnarled and covered in thorns, the shadow removed it from its bramble prison and lifted it into the sun. The dying light of Korriban washed over her face as the struggles of her day caught up to her and she fell into a deep sleep... _________________ The tempest of chaotic diversion and meaningless self-derision slowed to a crawl. The rose, that had suffered years of abuse at the hands of chaotic whim, lay restless and broken. Pieces of its stem were bent and disjointed. Its petals were shorn and the leaves that brought verdant green to the cloudy garden were cast aside. Without strength, the rose was gently set atop a cold slab and left without further thought. All will be well… The shadow’s words echoed. They seemed empty at first. But warmth echoed through the faintest touches of its every gesture. Its intentions were mysterious, cryptic and vague. But, it showed not the slightest trace of carelessness. Demons attacked the rose throughout its vigil. They attempted to pry the rose from its solitude and drag it back into the chaotic miasma that had been its entire life up to that point. But, no more. The rose, even in its weakness, stood impassively to their desires. Divisiveness was their purpose, twisted was their direction, and taunting was their method. They came and assaulted the rose’s weary mind, but found no purchase. The Rose had enough chaos. Chaos would breed more chaos, and such was the tool of meaningless destruction. The rose sought to stand once more. It sought a graceful solution to the antithetical force that fought to take root. No more… _________________ Keenava awoke with a start. But, instead of wrenching her body to attention, she stifled a gasp and slowly turned her eyes side to side. Shadowy hands wrestled with her brain, demanding movement, but she stifled the inclination. Quick moves and impulsive actions led to dangerous outcomes. She had an uncomfortable familiarity with that. Careful breaths, easy moves, deliberate motion… Deep breaths. The room was dark. A cold slab of steel iced the bare skin of her back, sending gooseflesh all up and down the surface of her ebony skin. Tingling sensations played like ants all along her body. The only part of her body that didn’t recognize any of that, was her left foot. Yet, as she thought of it, a sleek looking black thing moved in response. Like a distant whisper, the signals sent from her brain echoed in her head and channeled into movement. It felt odd. The aberration that hung from her leg wasn’t what she expected. In truth, she didn’t expect to wake at all. It seemed the force was not finished with her and Exodus had not completely forsaken his nightshade. Maybe this leg would serve him or her in the future. For now, it simply reminded her of how far she’d fallen. Her body was falling to its monstrous influence one piece at a time. It was inevitable. Silence ruled for a few more minutes as she studied her leg. Empty words and empty phrases were all she could muster in response. She shook her head and let it plop back down the durasteel. Why didn’t you just kill me Exodus? Why do you care? He cares because you are a tool. You are of use to him. Keenava intoned to herself, determined to break the silence if nothing else was going to answer her curious whims. But why? Find out… Be the weapon you’re supposed to be. Fulfill your potential and obey the will of the Empire. Then maybe you’ll see why. Nodding internally, Keenava explored the medical facility with her mind, attempting to derive how the medical professionals did what they did and trying to see what her leg was all about. However, the medical staff was all gone. There were no living organic presences in the room. Whoever had finished her operation was nowhere to be found. Interesting… Seeing no other alternative, Keenava slowly pushed herself to the edge of the slab and gently put both legs on the floor. She tested her replacement leg with careful grace and found that it was very receptive to her influence. It bounced a little with liquid motion and mirrored the actions of a normal left foot. She looked down at it, curiousness grabbing at her idle thoughts. And, drab black metal, imitating the shape of a normal Twi’lek foot, looked back up at her with stoic indifference. It was nice looking and very well crafted, but Keenava had no idea what came with it if anything. It was a mystery. But, right now, the bigger mystery was where the medical staff had gone. Keenava hopped off the side of the durasteel slab, putting more weight on her feet and almost toppled over. It seemed that the new foot, although made of metal, had no real weight to it. Keenava expected it to be three times or four times as heavy as her normal foot and was prepared to compensate for it, but her estimation was grossly inaccurate and the mistake almost brought her crashing to the ground. Fortunately, she splayed her arms out at the last moment and caught a nearby desk on her way down. It was a close call and Keenava was thankful, but the weight differential was a problem. Taking a deep breath, Keenava adjusted her estimate and pushed herself to her feet. She stood at her full height and lifted one foot at a time with slow repetition, testing them both for a good long minute. Then, when she thought she was ready to start moving forward again, she began moving slowly around the room, looking for clues as to the operation, putting her hands out and visually, physically and metaphysically inspecting everything she could. A few small prototypes lay across workbenches. Metal parts, metal joints, tiny pieces, and fabrications were laid out with precision and ease, but nothing seemed to offer much in the way of explanation. As she paced around the room, however, a queer dimple on the wall stood out to her. It was barely noticeable at first, but as she neared, she started to see more of what it was. On the wall, not too far from where she stood, a crude engraving was etched into the stone. It was in a language that Keenava didn’t recognize, but beneath the engraving was a small readout. On it, she was able to determine pieces and parts of how her leg was put together. Still no luck on finding out why or where the medical staff had gone, but priorities changed and that issue would be revisited in a moment. Metal prosthesis - Phrik inner frame - Sensor baffled compartment - Nanite generators and repair/weapon system (basic installation and simplistic programming) ** Toe tap twice, heel tap twice. - Micro-hydraulic musculature - Fused alchemical crystals – Energy storage and illusion:: keyword - Ilūzija - Backup power source – Battery cell 44ENPS Keenava stood for a few moments looking at the sheet, scanning every word. Idly, she started to tap her foot, which was a physical tick she had when she was doing something like reading or focusing on someone else as they talked. It wasn’t meant as a derisive jab – though some part of her wanted it to be - it was simply how her foot worked. But, after three seconds of toe-tapping, Keenava felt her toe change shape. No, that wasn’t right. Keenava moved the readout for a moment to look at her toe and noticed that the front of her foot formed a small one-inch blade. Her nose twitched at the revelation, but the rest of her face remained unchanged. She returned to the readout and re-read the ‘weapon system’ line and tapped her toe twice again, watching as the blade receded. That’s cool… “Sensor baffled compartment. What’s that?” Keenava asked the darkness, setting aside the readout again and reaching down to her metal leg. She knelt on the ground and stabilized herself before brushing across the prosthetic’s exquisite exterior with her fingers. The smooth cold metal met her fingers with eagerness. The structure was very complicated. It was articulated with the skill of a master, and simultaneously, crafted with the eye of an artist. She got a little distracted by the craftsmanship and admired the piece, spending extra time running her fingers over the joints to appreciate the work. But she couldn’t find the compartment that the sheet talked about. It had to be here somewhere. Why would they list it? Keenava moved her hands over the foot once more and found an odd growth on one side. The metal was so well forged and smoothed that Keenava didn’t notice it the first time. But, with her second inspection, Keenava spent more time inching her way along the leg and noticed the irregularity bulging out on the leg’s left side. She pushed it at it, hoping it was a button, and sure enough, a small hatch opened on the right side of the leg. It was a decent sized cavity, and currently, her lightsaber hilt was inside of it. That is also cool… Keenava left her hilt inside and resealed the hatch as best she could before resuming her previous stance and reading the only clue she had one more time. Nothing… Why is everyone gone? Keenava tore the piece of paper off the pad took the readout with her. She turned to leave the room and something wafted right over the surface of her nose. The smell of copper eased into her nostrils and thoughts started to swim to her mind. Vague recollections of the past began to worm their way back. And with them, screams of agony filled her ears, echoing in her brain. It had been here. It had killed them. Ghost temptation led her feet to a side table where the specter’s old hilt stood. Keenava tried to activate it on her way to meet Exodus, but it would not work for her. However, here in the dark, it glowed with power. Keenava could hear the souls of the dead wallowing inside the crude metal relic and felt tempted to destroy the terrible metal device. But that was wasteful. The spirit that still dwelt within the relic desperately drew her hand to the hilt, begging to drain power from her body as well. It was a hollow attempt; something that drew Keenava to laugh because she remembered how its last attempt ended. Its desperation amused her and instead of ignoring its plea, Keenava planned something of her own. She accepted the spirit’s offer. But, when she contacted the metal, she rivaled its aura with her own. The draining insatiability that Keenava mastered on Umbara, met the desperate Specter and absorbed all the power it had attained, eradicating its vulnerable form completely. Then, when its influence was void from the ancient rusty piece of metal, the metal corroded even more and cracked apart. It had seen its purpose and would now lay as a broken piece of garbage on the side table. The mist started to settle. Keenava stepped away from the room and down a silent stone hall. She found her armaments waiting for her outside, fresh and renewed, and continued forward once she was finished suiting up. A few battery packs and slicer’s tools were added to the pouches of her armor. And her knives were polished with pride. She wished to thank the one that did this, but appreciation and respect would have to suffice. She activated her comm and messaged Exodus; short and sweet. Nightshade. Ready to kill, Master…

… I know Her face betrayed little but the slightest tinge of regret. Deep inside her mind, there was little difference. What she’d done was stupid. She regretted it, but there was nothing to gain from dwelling on it. There was nothing to gain from rehashing it or trying to assert one side or the other. Her deeds were inexcusable, and thus Exodus needed to do what he had to to reassert his dominance. Whatever that was, Keenava accepted it. Tears would do nothing; although, she didn’t feel sad. Resigned would be a better word, but she wasn’t wholly at peace with her death either. Still, she knew that she owed him much and that her actions were crude, disrespectful and not becoming of anyone that would stand at his side. It took a great deal for her to understand her worth. Once she did, she knew that lashing out was her own way of feeling secure in her insecurities and defending them as if they helped her somehow. When all they did was get her into trouble. With an idle hand, Keenava reached for the hilts of both blades she held at her hip and set them to the side, opening both palms to him. Lacking the space to adequately prostrate, she simply opened her palms and looked up at him. Her face was stolid, and her expression reflecting the weariness in her body. Do what you must

The red sand, mirthless in its winding flow, coursed across the skin of Keenava’s face. The breaking chill of the evening wind tickled the ends of her lekku and cooled the slop of human remains that stained her armor. The nub of her leg - cauterized the moment that the saber severed her foot from her body – throbbed with a dull ache as she pushed herself along with a phantom telekinetic prosthesis. Hard beads of sweat built all over her body as the exertion taxed every muscle in her physical and metaphysical form. But she kept on for a mile or so, tracing her steps and following the subtle tone of her Master’s energy. When the path led to an old tomb on the outskirts of the Praxeum’s influence, Keenava settled onto a stone outside the stairway to the entrance. She bowed her head in respect to the dead Master’s tomb and did not enter for she felt it would be rude and disrespectful to encroach on her Master’s activities and the peaceful rest of the dead. Which, in the end, would only expound upon her previous misdeeds. Wincing slightly, she crossed her legs together on the cold chunk of sandstone and sat looking forward, not focusing on anything. Instead, she dipped into her mind, feeling the emptiness that dwelt there. The caverns of her consciousness were strangely silent, filled with little but the stirrings of Keenava’s idle thoughts. The silence hung like an oppressive fog. And, as Keenava tried to pry her way through the thick malaise, she realized that they were truly gone. But in the end, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need them. They were her, the whole time. The ferocity, the allure, the tactics. All of it was her. They were a source of justification to use against herself. Insisting that they were responsible for her power was enough to imply that she needed them. But alone and fragile, Keenava proved that it was all a lie. She made herself strong and was carved by the experiences she’d had. It was her path to take and her strength to build. That was what she took from the dark of that tomb, as well as many other things. She would work to become stronger. Her leg was a reminder of failure even in success. Therefore, Keenava relished the pain. It was a lesson. And, like all lessons, you could learn from them or come to regret when you fail to learn from them. That was why she was here. That was why she waited, listening and watching.

Lallu’s eyes glowed with sharp severity as they both stared deeply at each other. With another strike, carefully aimed at Furion's center of mass, they clashed again, sparks flying in every direction. You had so much potential. The Twi’lek’s face was grim; impassive. Her cheeks had no color, her face was of normal hue and her stance was articulated with grace and finesse. The only point on her that seemed to betray anything were streaks that lined the border of her face, starting at the corners of her crimson eyes. But, Lallu wasn’t crying; Lallu wasn’t laughing, and Lallu wasn’t angry. Her expression was neutral. Her eyes were listless. What? This isn’t like you. Where’s the fire? Lallu’s face was stone, unmoving. But, beneath the surface, her will pulled her along. Existence was pain and all she could bear was resistance. Pain was a tool. Pain guided each blow and fueled her momentum. With the efficacy of professional dancers, both countered each other with ease. With time, Lallu surprised the specter with unexpected counters and added hits. When he turned right, following the pull of his arm, she quickly struck at the opening, causing him to intercept at an awkward angle and opening yet another point for her to strike. Quick blows and even faster dodges emerged as the Twi’lek felt her knowledge of the Ataru form take hold. It was more than the specter bargained for. She gained on her adversary, pushing him further into the temple and shrouding them both in more darkness until all any of them could see were the red of their blades and the sparks they made at every parry. The Specter was losing ground, and it knew it. Even without her power, she countered everything it had. Thus, a new strategy was required; and fast. You think yourself strong. You’re a disgrace. The illusory Furion feigned a wide right turn once more, waiting for the battle drunk Twi’lek to fall for it. When she did, the specter ducked and swung its blade at Lallu’s left leg, slicing it off just below the knee. The wicked smile plastered on its face, illuminated by the red of its blade, was a crude facsimile of Furion’s wolfish expression. The truth was hidden in the shadows. But Lallu couldn’t see that. All she could see was stars. The Twi’lek fell to the ground, grasping at her left knee. The pain was all she had, but it was too much. The white shining sun of brilliant pain that gouged her consciousness almost doomed her to incapacitation. And, when the smoke cleared from her mutilation, the specter stood above her, laughing. I never liked your dancing anyway. All of it hit her hollow mind, pushing deep into every memory she had of him. The dream she had, of dancing on a stage and seeing the sun set on a brilliant summer’s day; the illusion she held of a distant future; the dreary idea that, for one moment, she wouldn’t be a monster. It all faded as pain consumed everything. She fought to remain conscious. One blinking eye would not close, no matter how hard it wanted to. She would keep on fighting. She had to. Do you see now, how useless you are? Something simple called to her. Exodus’ teachings echoed in the darkness. Urik’s words played again, ageless wisdom that would be with her always. And, like a sieve, the worries in her mind carried away. They flowed down the ebbing contours of her mind only to pour out her ear nubs and onto the floor. Her trembling body and short staccato breaths started to even out. All that was left, was a raw searing pain. Pain that was then fed throughout her body and mind. The mental and emotional pain of loss, the physical pain of her leg, and the psychological pain of conflicting identities. It was all power. And it was all she needed. With one mental stroke from her emptied mind, Lallu suffused her body in pain and melded with the shadows around her, suppressing her power and hiding her energy from her illusory prey. The specter, that was about to finish her where she lay, looked slightly befuddled. It tried to strike the ground where she was, but missed, scalding the stone instead. It looked around, frantically trying to get a bead on the lamed Twi’lek. But, even with only one leg, she was silent and fast. In the deep darkness that the temple provided, it was hard for them both to see. But he was holding a light that gave him away. Wasn’t she holding a blade too? It thought. The silence held for a few moments and dragged for a minute. Then, when the specter started to strike blindly at the dark, in the hopes of catching the limping Twi’lek, it stopped dead in its tracks. Keenava reappeared behind the specter and activated her blade in a way that pierced the back of the fake Furion’s throat. It looked furious and scared. It projected a thought into her mind with its waning strength. I-I… why? In the fragile hope that she might be swayed, the specter released the emotional power it held, pushing it back into her empty skull and flooding her with caustic excess. But her will was iron. No one would shake the determination glowing in her crimson eyes. It pled to her, using memories of Furion in one final attempt to try and shake her. But, Keenava looked deep into those gold eyes that for so long had held her deepest loves and desires, and her stony expression didn’t shift; Not. An. Inch... I’ve outgrown you. Furion collapsed to the ground and the vision dissipated. Keenava, exhausted, in pain, and winded as she was, fell to the stone floor beside her deactivated blade. She knew now - too late - that the specter had fooled her, illuminating a very important truth and shining a big light on her face. There was no denying what just happened. And there was no doubting the effects. Now that she could breathe, pain as brilliant as smelted metal broke through every thought process the Twi'lek tried to build. They were gone... all gone; Kana, Kara, and Kava. Echoes resonated in her mind where they used to be. It was, haunting. But, she didn’t need them. As much as the Furion Specter had been a vicious and underhanded creature, it carried several lessons for her to reflect on; lessons that would stay with her for quite some time; lessons that would help her with problems in the future and problems in the present. But, for now, she needed to find a way out of this temple. Grunting and consumed by the pain surging from the still healing scorch mark where her leg once was, Keenava pushed herself to stand and used the pain in her mind to help telekinetically balance her body. It would be slow going, but it was better than sitting in the hole and waiting for a rescue that would never come. As she left, hobbling at half her normal pace, her mind reached out toward where her saber lay and found the specter’s saber resting close by. She snatched both sabers and placed them in her belt. Lacking a holder for the second saber, she placed it in a side pouch and figured that she’d remedy that problem later. For now, she needed a way out. One step at a time. With patient eyes, Keenava eventually found the light that poured from the hole she made in the roof of the temple; the hole made by her force scream and subsequent fall. It was quite a bit higher than she remembered, but nothing easy was ever worth doing. Her leg was tired, the muscles in her right leg fought hard to carry her entire body. But she had dancer’s legs. She may not be as used to standing on one leg as she used to be, but she had more endurance than most. With the pain that still sang like a splitting note deep in her mind, she channeled that screaming energy into the muscles of her leg and pushed from the ground, guiding herself up and out with more telekinetic power. And, it worked... relatively. She made the hole opening alright, but overshot it a little and landed on the sand of the chasm bed with a thud. Her body plopped down and fell hard against the rock. But the pain was just a drop in a very large bucket that already held so much more. Scrapes were hard on her face and her body shook, but she was driven to succeed. She moved her right leg a little and found it limp. So, wasting no time, Keenava used her arms and started to climb up the cliff’s ledge; one rock at a time. A few times Keenava had to catch herself to prevent herself from falling down the cliff once more. But she made it to the top eventually. Patience and determination were a powerful pair. And with them, Keenava felt she could do anything. Now, however, it was time to face her father. It was time to face judgment.

((Edited for clarity/readability)) A cold hand dipped into the Twi’lek’s mind and pulled silently, picking memories, picking thoughts, and altering her senses to see what it wanted her to see. - - - - - - - - - - - - - A splinter of ire rose to the delicate surface of Lallu's cheek, but her expression went relatively unchanged. When, despite her well-crafted façade, the Twi’lek was frantically trying to get above water. Her eulogy for the feelings she held for him was apparently futile. Her passionate fire had not extinguished and would not easily be deterred. Still, were she to emphatically let loose all the feelings she had for him over the past few weeks, she was more likely to get a violent response than an equally impassioned one. “I was gone, serving your former master, Exodus,” Lallu said, her response void of color. Furion's visage grew a shade darker for a moment. He stared hard at her, his shimmering golden eyes probing for any hint of deceit in her mask. His stance was vague. Where before, Lallu could cut a hint of his position or his intentions from the way he stood, his stance seemed foreign and distant. But his eyes drew attention, as they always did. And, although mesmerizing in appearance, they took a hard and spiteful edge. Liar. Furion seethed through closed teeth. Why would he bother? - - - - - - - - - - - - - The energy draw was subtle, unnoticeable. A trap, notorious and mentally destructive, was everything the Sith Specter wanted. Delicious agony, passion, hate, and everything in between streamed in ample amounts to its waiting maw. - - - - - - - - - - - - - A vague sensation lingered at the edge of her mind. A small wisp felt out of place, but it was far away. It sounded almost like someone calling out to her, but she couldn't make it out. Lallu's mind struggled to be angry but only succeeded in miring itself in doubt. Her recent issues glared at her, shining like a terrible light on her face. And, like a glove, she fell right back into her submissive role, despite how far she'd come to let him go. Lallu looked to the ground and nodded, woefully. Thought so. A thick shadow passed over Furion's wolfish grin, but Lallu didn’t catch it. Her ruby eyes were transfixed on the shadows that ebbed on the stone floor. Cold and indifferent, they wrapped around her feet and curled aimless amidst the cracks. Now. To business. Furion’s eyes glowed fiercely once more as they glared further into the cavern, toward a doorway that Lallu couldn’t see. His countenance, although impossibly harsh, harshened even more. The contours of his face seemed granite in their grim solidity. I have a problem. The familiar bass of his commanding voice echoed with power unquestionable. And, not for the first time, Lallu felt compelled to aid. She felt compelled to help him. My daughter doesn’t seem to understand discipline. Numerous times she has risked her life and mine with foolish diversions. She even entertained the idea of joining the Jedi. It would be trivial for me to deal with this. But, as a trial for you, Apprentice, I want you to do it. Wh-what? The trepidation of acknowledgment clouded Lallu’s words as she began to suspect what was coming next. Simple. Kill Rose Like the sound of a pin dropping, his words clattered against the void of her mind. She couldn’t bring herself to understand the thought process he took to arrive at that conclusion. But he never did share his plans with her. Fruitlessly, Lallu fought to look at Furion and tried to find some reason he would do it. But, it didn’t help. The raven mop that clung to his head was of the shape it had always been. His eyes, though more feral than before, were just as mesmerizing. His stance bore the same regal bearing it did when they first met. No feature betrayed his intent. His expression was consistent and his will was strong. His command was final. And, like Exodus, his word was law. But... Rose? I- wh-what do you mean kill Rose? Lallu strangled out of her mouth. Moments of companionship streamed like a balm to her weary mind. The memories of time shared with the girl as they mutually cared for one another, helped her when he abandoned her time and time again. She felt compelled to argue, but the moment her anger spiked, she felt numbness where fury should be. I meant what I said. A frigid hand violently ravaged the depths of her mind, grasping at pieces and tearing them apart. There was some vague connection to a telepathic presence, but she couldn’t see it. White hot pain streamed to the surface and overwhelmed the limits of her nervous system. The back of her neck scalded like magma to the skin and brought her reeling to the floor. No sound found her frantic thoughts, and without a force left to keep her, she fell to the cold sandstone. Silence followed as the Twi’lek writhed on the ground. Are these holding you back? Lallu looked on as best she could. It was a pain to crane her neck from the ground. But after a moment of struggle, she saw his bounty. From where she was, she could only assume that Kana, Kara, and Kava - the physical manifestations of her inner demons and emotional volatility - were dangling in his grasp, just out of reach. Their energies, devoid of physical shape, were like pyres of light in the dark of the cavern. Whimsical thoughts clouded her mind, searching for something pleasant to diffuse the despair. They’re a waste anyway… His fist clenched tight in the open air, and like water being poured onto a rolling campfire, the light of their presence was snuffed out. Impulsively, Lallu reached to the back of her neck to feel for the scar. But bare flesh met her anxious question. Her mind was empty. Her memories retained the shell and physical elements of what Lallu and Keenava were, but the titanic pain of his technique left her with nothing. Her emotions weren’t screaming at her. No feelings of impulsive desire whispered in her ear. And no derisive powers of logic were guiding her hands. Her body and mind retained their prowess. But like distant echoes, her emotions were wisps when they were once giants. I guess you really are useless… A pitiable baby that can’t do anything right. His words bit at her from where he stood, towering above her. But his words sang a different tune; her tune. In severe moments of depression, that line had been the theme of her agony. But no one had ever used it against her, especially Furion. On the ground, wrestling with realization. A small beat of fire kept an audible hum inside her. Traces of sensation, physical and mental, played to remind her of her experience and of her skill. The Twi’lek worked her way to her feet, falling for a moment at the added weight, and shuffled over to the next room where Rose sat, tears strewn across her face. Cold steel slipped into her numb fingers. She looked on with impassionate discretion. And, without a word, Lallu ignited her blade and cleaved the weeping teenager’s head from her body. Eyes of terror and sorrow looked up at the Twi’lek, but cold crimson is all that looked back. The blade, redder than a Laigrek’s eye, was still glowing. Like the fire in her heart, the aggression in her stance refused to cease. Lallu’s eyes were coal and her soul was fire eternal. She turned to face the man she loved with impassionate eyes. He was the monster she was, looking back at her and slapping her in the face. See, was that so hard? He laughed. It was simple and guttural. Lallu shot forward with speed and disappeared. A moment passed and she reappeared behind Furion, her blade aimed straight at his neck. The specter turned expertly and deflected her blade with a blade of its own. You disappoint me.

Unfettered rage continued to linger in the canyon. Echoes of her tantrum bounced between the rock formations with little regard, mocking the lack of intention behind her gesture; mocking her lack of control and giving her more reason to scorn her own ineptitude. Rules unknown and foolishness unbidden hung against her guilty frame where she sat, waiting whatever fate befell her stupidity. A tumor of looming threat started to build just above her shoulder and she couldn’t help but feel pressure building with each passing moment. It was like the waiting strike of an executioner’s ax. Free falling and fast, the ax swung hard toward its target as the victim waited to feel the blade of judgment against the thin flesh of their throat. The Twi’lek extinguished her red blade and sighed deeply, sitting on her knees, looking intently at the red cliffs that cut a lethal visage from an otherwise monochromatic countryside. This scenic diversion was picked due to its apropos juxtaposition to her current predicament. Below, deep in the cliffside, corpses of the unfaithful lay unburied. The very unfaithful that Keenava had killed a few hours before at Exodus’ command. It was… fitting. Silence… The whole of Keenava’s uncertainty assumed the breadth of the canyon. Deep breaths helped to assuage what little hope she had for her future and deep emptying thoughts helped to keep her chaotic musings at bay. Listen! A tingle flicked the edge of Keenava’s spine – a warning – but she brushed it away. It was a tiny little thing and Keenava’s mind was drifting, focused on titans of drama that loomed around her. Small scitters and scuffles of rubble and dust filled the gap of audible noise, but the booming of her passionate heart kept her ear nubs occupied. When a rock fell nearby, however, cracking against the side of her perch, Keenava tilted her head to try and decipher the source, but could not glean where the rock fell from. Her lekku anxiously stirred from their resting place. More rocks fell. Keenava’s concern deepened. The tingle came again. Listen! And although she answered the warning this time, she could not see the last rock fall. Nervously, she took a small step and tried to stand. But trepidation swallowed her precaution, the rock that supported her position on the cliffside slipped from its position, and the Twi’lek came tumbling with it. Very little thought processed in the time it took her to fall. A terrified scream was pressed from her mind and any sounds that the Twi’lek exuded as she fell, were lost in the fall and covered in the caterwauls of descending rubble. With a meaty unpleasant thud, she collided with the corpses of betrayers she’d laid low. And together, all of them fell deeper into the pile and collectively smashed into a cold sandstone floor. It was rough. Heavy and light aliens alike sandwiched against her and pushed more weight onto her frame, but she did not slip into unconsciousness. Tingles of sensation filtered through her body, but her thoughts were clear and her sight was unaffected; as far as she could tell. There was a large alien rear perched atop her face and blocking her windpipe. The bodies had succumbed to rigor mortis - which compromised their flexibility - and ejected their bowels into the deeper recesses of the pile. The smell was enough to confirm every suspicion she had about her current predicament. And, through it all, Keenava swore she could feel her shoulders wail in futile resistance. A few moments of agonizing silence followed, with struggle coloring the Twi’lek’s face and limbs as she tried to dislodge herself. Wind and chunks of phlegm pushed out of her mouth with each wave of exertion made against her meaty prison. The smell of her friends almost intensified her expectoration, but she stifled the urges that beckoned to her from the folds of their gaseous flesh. Dust, sand, and force-only-knew what else surrounded her, picking at her eyes and congesting her throat. Other than that, darkness consumed the area beyond. Vague details could be made out of the portion of light that peaked through the hole she fell through. But, without a closer look, the Twi’lek could only see mysterious shapes. She could barely see two feet in front of her face. Keenava grunted, hefting a sizeable alien from her chest and dumping him to the floor with a soft plup sound. Then, taking a large breath of clean but musty air, she extricated herself from the pile of deceased and took a careful step forward before assessing her damage. Blood and other mysterious substances stained her tunic and dust covered her entire body. It looked disgusting and felt even worse. But the Sith Lord had very little time for vanity. She attempted to pat herself down but only succeeded in spurring a fit of coughs and a sensation of disgust as she felt the goop that hung on her suit of armor. Her brief inspection also revealed many scrapes and bruises, as well as a contusion on the right side of her head. But, when all was said and done, it took her only a few more moments to gather her bearings. It wasn’t hard. There wasn’t much around. The Twi’lek tried to find something that looked familiar; tried to find some hook to draw her attention. But the darkness was too much. She would have to carry on and hope for an exit deeper in. Her entrance was thirty feet up and would be a difficult climb. So, somewhat resigned to her current fate, Keenava stuck her arms out in both directions, trying to gauge the spacious cavern before her. The dark welcomed her, but the structure itself felt oppressive as if there were an aggressive nature to the stone itself; obstinate and stubborn. Columns shifted, tiles broke beneath her feet a time or two and it was clear that, whatever this structure was, it was not made to lie beneath the sands. Yet, it stood the test of time. More columns, beyond the ones that crumpled, kept pushing upward even when years marred its surface. Walls that had no place standing after more than a century beneath the sands, were holding strong. Keenava moved further to examine each piece with what light she had and found illustrations of ancient battles carved into the stone. And a life, almost like a heartbeat, was radiating from their design. A strange warmth followed that sensation and glowed from further in, radiating outward from the belly of the structure. Initially, following her fall and the trap she’d sprung on herself, the Twi'lek was skeptical, but she believed that her powers of perception were adequate to pick out any more traps before they hit. And, the warmth felt almost… familiar. The glaring silence was oppressive. There were idle sounds as cave-life stirred to Keenava’s interference, but the absence of anything substantial was haunting. Each step crashed, each heartbeat thundered and each breath clapped against her ear nubs. Suspicion was her only company. That, and curiosity. _________________________ The presence hung about the tomb like a dingy cavern bat. It stalked the Twi'lek from the shadows and watched her with predatory eyes. Plotting, scheming, and lying amidst the shadows it slunk behind, waiting for an opportunity. _________________________ There was a change in the air; subtle and earthy. Lallu's lekku quivered as if to alert her wandering mind. But the shift was subtle enough that it didn't stick. Apprentice, you're late. The world went cold. His words moved in slow careful motion as Lallu tried to decipher her newfound reality.

Keenava’s lekku lifted gently in the open crimson air. Contention woefully spread through the gentle articulation of each tail. Withering impulses beckoned to her waning mind and attempted to push her to her feet. Anger unheated was calling for fury unheeded. Shame ignored was calling for retribution unwanted. Consciousness wandered aimlessly in a sea of indecision and drifted with vague despair toward a feeling that the Twi’lek couldn’t readily grasp. Fingers out, clawing with futility at the drifting sand, Keenava couldn’t see what was right in front of her. Golden clarity sang out from the metal at her hip and pushed inward, impressing upon her mind. Coward… His word was so raw, so visceral, that it drew her blade before she could think. Before she could act rationally, her emotions sang for vengeance as they had before. His power, his faith, and his strength sang through her and carried her on the simple thread of strength that they provided. Like it had before, Furion’s words were the guiding force behind her. Her strength, her impulses, her emotions, her willful disobedience, and her passion were fed from the illusion that she had some life waiting for her; that Furion would appear to take her away from her fate and they’d live happily somewhere ‘til the end of their days. But, as the fairytale bloomed to life once more, the cruel fist of reality came crashing down. What peaceful reality could a killer ever have? Could you ever have? What could he give you that would change anything? And… the coup de grâce… Where is he? If his feelings are so strong, why isn’t he here beside you? Why did he leave, when he told you not to? Empty promises Feeble oaths Where was he on Ryloth? Where was he on Nar Shaddaa? Where was he on Talus? Where was he on Umbara? And where was he now? Every question barreled into her with the weight of a durasteel battering ram. Every pound of force drew a heavy strangled breath from her chest. Her flesh trembled with conflicting emotion and a ballad of hot tears played havoc across her pristine ebony face. Crystal stars fell from the velvet sky. And the red moons, with craters of pitch black, looked down upon her. Regal was their bearing. Disapproval was their intent. She convulsed, short hot breaths taking control of her respiratory system, not knowing what to do and questioning every decision she’d ever made. Panic, fear, revulsion, derision, passion, and misery surged through her until the turmoil of it all caused her to wretch off the edge of the cliff, covering the corpses below in a blanket of fresh bile. why… Acid covered her throat and bit back at her fragile attempts to call to the wastes. Frustration was her rebuttal. Her unheeded emotional cries rose to combat the frailty of her plight and Keenava’s eyes sparked plumes of crimson flame once more. With a single cry, aimed away from the Praxeum, Keenava’s passions flared. Her eyes bled cathartic release and her throat exploded with the force of a tornado. WHHHHHYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!?? Soundwaves pulsed violently through the canyons, triggering many landslides and echoing for miles. But, after a few agonizing moments, nothing happened. Silence reigned. No justice came. No heroes appeared. No salvation answered her silly cry. And no absolution rebounded on her expressive fragility. Her evocative display stood the penultimate example of a fruitless exhibition. And, just like that, Keenava understood. Her plea, although emphatically made, was coarse and unrefined. There was no direction. It was chaos that answered feeble triggers and stigmas. There was no art. There was no grace. With Furion, chaos ruled. He was mercurial, unpredictable, and unreliable. He was inauthentic and there was no assurance that his words were real. She couldn’t be sure. And surety was key. The less sure she was, the less concrete her ideas were, and the more she led others to see how indecisive she might be. She revealed her hand and gave everything away. It was the antithesis to the craft she’d been building all these years. And it was against the path she was walking with Exodus. She realized how instrumental he’d been in raising her. But, the caustic unknown of her relationship with him was not helping her. The more she relied on it and the more she put stock in it, the more she found herself drowning in a sea of uncertainty. With careful fingers, Keenava rested her lightsaber at her feet. Her mind centered on the hilt and disassembled it piece by piece until the gold crystal inside of it was revealed. With a small trembling motion, Keenava removed the crystal and stared deep into the facets of the gem. Moments of Furion’s care for her gleamed through the porous structure. Each facet glistened with euphoria as memories of their association passed in the empty space that held it. History held it aloft and kept it spinning in place. Yet, as time boiled on, the bright gold began to sour. The brown that sliced through the center of the gem like a poisoned vein or artery, held uncertainty and pain, revealing the lie hidden underneath. No more… The lie, one of many, broke through the crystal and splintered its structural integrity. Heartrending deceit stabbed through the core of the rock and sang dissonant chords of sorrow. One deception begged another and another, cracking pieces off of the gem's corroding surface. And, before the crystal could break completely, Keenava thrust the pieces into the yawning belly of the chasm to land amidst the betrayers. Silent tears signified the only emotion that remained to honor him; a eulogy that seemed fitting for what had been the longest and most emotional relationship of her life. No words were spared, for he spared no words for her. When her tears were dry and the emotion had passed, Keenava moved her hand over the hilt of her saber, using the kyber crystal she’d found years ago to reassemble and seal the metal cylinder. It flew to her hand with ease and felt wholly different. Absent… yet whole. With a snap-hiss, the blade came to life; as red as her eyes and as fiery as her spirit. Goodbye... Furion...

Keenava stood, golden blade glimmering in the low light of the hallway, staring at her Master. A man that had shown more kindness to her than her own father; indecision fraught on the tip of her emotional blaze. The blade hilt she held in her hand, the very shackles she broke to get to where she was now, burned her skin for vengeance. But this was too much. This was unbecoming. This was not her place. Not now. Maybe this is what Furion groomed her for. Maybe this is what all Sith were groomed for. To one day be strong enough or possess the will to challenge the one that crafted you; to one day challenge the being that dared to stand over you even as he chiseled the final pieces from the marble of your form. Yet, hers was an insult that was incomparable to his. A daughter spat at her father amidst an assembly of his peers and mocked his offers of generosity. The armor on her back and weapons at her side felt even heavier than they had before. She felt the tinge of Sheog’s message and presence emanate throughout the hall. The well meaning slug's words were harsh, but only added to the turmoil caused by her impulsivity. The galaxy of power she held within her frame snuffed his power out like a candle’s flame, adding his terrible hunger to the growth of its massive tide. Then, as her power neared its limit, the welling hurricane of youthful rebellion inside her released. << No. >> Keenava’s voice echoed back to Sheog in a calm reflection of his tone. She would not fight. She would not deepen the show of disrespect by adding to her display. It was a lesson. It was all a lesson. And like the naive fool she'd always been, she answered with anger. Her deeds were caught in the purgatory of political speculation. And instead of trying to comprehend the implications of her foolishness while an audience of her peers contemplated her arrogance, she abandoned questions; for the moment at least. Without audible recognition, the golden blade fizzled out and Keenava vanished into the Korriban wastes. Her rage and fury was too much. It was all too much. She needed time... A whisper, almost subvocally through the force, slipped through the air to where Exodus stood. ...sorry... It wouldn't make up for her foolish mistake, but maybe it would lessen the furious surge that was sure to answer her disrespecftul revolt. Right now, amidst the swimming chaos that stirred within her, her team didn’t matter. Her friendships didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was where she was; the sand brushing between her lekku, callously rubbing against the smooth obsidian of her face. She sat, quietly musing on a cliff about three miles from the praxeum, looking at the pile of her handiwork that rest at the bottom... What am I? Why do I do this to myself? One of the restful dead seemed to stir, but collapsed into the heap as carrion fed upon its bones.

Hanging on vague recollection, Raia was about to respond to her before Exodus made his grand reappearance. Instead, feeling Exodus’ aura precede his entrance, Raia nodded quietly and stepped closer to Quietus. Then Quietus offered his vote of cooperation to the Dark Lord and a wealth of interesting information. But the Twi'lek didn't hear it. Instead, she stood eerily still. Her master’s words continued to echo in her mind... Trembling intensity, begging a visceral response, antagonized the simplicity of what might have been an innocent reunion. But no. Sith don’t get peace. Sith don’t get simple. Sith don’t get innocent. Like a pail of dwang poured over her head, Exodus’ arrogant proclamation was a razor’s edge to the heart of her brain. Kara roared with feral agony. But a guttural, primal scream that surpassed even Kara's ferocity, hushed the beast and silenced its fury. Heat unrelenting began as a subtle note from her side of the dining hall. A bare wisp of hot energy, almost unnoticeable, began to grow and spread throughout the entire Praxeum from where she stood. One degree at a time. Pounding drums of rebellious blood flowed through every inch of her body and rose as bulging veins on the surface of her cloth covered arms. Powerful vestiges of resistance fought against the swelling tide to prevent what seemed like an inevitable break. A veritable sea of fire welled behind the film of her crimson eyes. Embers of bright fiery rage eked out of the corners. But everything was tightly held beneath a veneer of civility. A steady rock of form, built through adversity and neglected insanity, stood atop intensity unimaginable. Even staring deep into her master’s mocking emerald gaze, she resisted the force of hatred that surged beneath. Elitism she could tolerate. She’d known it all her life; echoes of Furion and other Sith that derided her would follow her forever; slavers that saw her as nothing but chattel to be traded were similarly bound to her for the rest of her miserable life. Disrespect she could understand, because he sneered at others beneath him, which was also Furion’s greatest failing; others before him committed worse atrocities to her. And yet, it would always rankle her. But shaming her achievements, treating her like something less than what she’d earned in front of so many was beyond belittling. Impudence begets impudence. Disrespect begets disrespect. The salty aura of his disgraceful words was enough to bleed her resolve. But she stood strong amidst the torrential wave of fury that affixed her seemingly indifferent body language. Her piercing gaze shot back at him, derision masquerading as esteem. “It seems my master has stopped brooding. Come to join us ‘underlings’ on the surface?” Keenava said, scorn heavy in the lilt of her voice. Her body tilted ever so slightly and shifted from the other end of the dining hall to inches from Exodus’ visage. Her body was a head smaller than him, but her presence took up Korriban and the other planetary bodies that bordered it, and it hadn’t stopped growing. The power that fought to the surface threatened to rent her body asunder. But she didn’t care. She was sick of being treated like a child. She was sick of everyone treating her like she couldn’t do as she pleased. FREEDOM… Heh. Don’t make me laugh. You’re in chains ‘til the day you die you rutting slave. The Ethos of Sith philosophy meant little to those that practiced it. Entombed by their own ambition and power, they carried on like they knew what was best for others and moved without a will of their own. “I Understand. Master” Keenava intoned. Her words were clipped and intense, but the volume of her voice didn't change. Keenava’s fire met Exodus’ dark presence as her own intensity encompassed the galactic core and kept moving. Her arms didn’t move. Her face didn’t move. Her body language mirrored obedience perfectly. But the intensity that rested beneath the surface of her face was the picture of resistance. “In the meantime, since it seems I have some time open on my ‘busy’ schedule – what with all my lack of sleeping – I’m going to take Raia on a tour of the praxeum. If she’s okay with that. But regardless, I need some air.” Keenava said. Her gaze didn’t shift to the girl – Raia was uncertain enough already and nervous to those around her. But, Keenava’s words were heavy and hard; all the while refusing to raise her voice above a civil volume. To outside observers that could not touch the Force, the exchange was tense, if a little salty. But to those that were familiar with the force’s embrace, they would see the power of a galaxy, facing a man that fancied himself a god. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.” Keenava didn’t let him resist. She didn’t give him a chance. She didn't even look at Raia as she left, not wanting to direct any of her caustic energy at the girl. Just as she shifted from one end of the room to the other, she shifted back. When she finished her movement, she offered a stiff bow and left the dining hall. Her presence hadn’t shifted however and would take some time to decrease from the immense shadow it cast across the whole of Korriban and the galaxy around it. Coward... The voice of Furion echoed through her ears. She felt the weight of his gaze and so many others weigh deeply on her shoulders. Keenava could see the lesson as it hung in front of her, delivered in the bittersweet form of shame and derision. But she couldn't stand any more of it. It was ice to the fire of her soul. NO. Keenava turned, the fire blooming in her crimson eyes. A snap-hiss echoed in the hollow hall and Keenava turned to face her master. Her mouth didn't move. Her body didn't move. Her face, and stance said all she needed to say.

“Alright. Before you go, I wish to have parting words with all of you.” Keenava said, looking at each of her team as she paced the line. “First, if you have need of Exodus, come to me. If Exodus summons you directly, you may report directly to him, but do not go to him without prior permission. It wastes his time. And his time, like mine, is important. Second, if you betray me, Exodus, or the Sith Order, I will find you and gut you myself. No matter where you go; no matter what you do; no matter the resources you employ, I will find you. And I will kill you. Third, feel free to question my orders if you have a just cause to do so. If your advice proves useful, I will reward you. If your advice puts us all in danger, I will punish you.” The assassin paused at the end of her pace and took a long meaningful look at her team before continuing. “Do I make myself clear?” Keenava’s voice trembled with subtle power, echoing the severity of the proclamation she made to them. Each of the black-clad assassins nodded in turn. Then, when Keenava was satisfied with their response, she gave the word for them to disperse. And, like the night that fled as the sun rose, they ran into the evening darkness and vanished. That left Keenava with nothing to do for the first time in a few days. It was… an odd feeling. She didn’t much enjoy not having anything to do – and wagered that most other creatures didn’t either – because speculation often led to dangerous alternatives. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t happen sometimes. Kava, Kana, and Kara were quiet, which meant they had no idea either. And despite the ample fields of red canyons and sand that surrounded her, she did not possess an equal amount of opportunity. Silent grains washed over the fine leather of her boots and tickled her nose. The evening breeze played at her cloak and billowed ever so slightly in the gaps of her armor. The afternoon uncertainty that weighed heavily on her shoulders was a lingering memory and continued to build against the sturdy lapel of her tunic. The weight was confusing and she considered what implication her questions might have when a thought struck her that she hadn’t considered before. She wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow, but could not, for the life of her, remember if she’d asked Sheog about it. Even at that dinner party, with plenty of opportunity, she had neglected to ask a simple question. With that in mind, the desperately bored Twi’lek set off to resolve her minor curiosity as if it were a mission of the utmost importance. Which, although not very urgent, was the only thing she had to invest energy in at the moment. Figuring the Hutt was in the same spot he was a little while ago, Keenava rushed to the main dining hall and made to formally interject on behalf of her growing curiosity. However, it appeared that Sheog had more guests. Keenava felt presences earlier, but she couldn’t place them. Only now, as she came close to the main dining hall, could she feel the presences grow and take shape. One was a man; the same man she met on two separate occasions. At least, he felt the same. The name Keenava knew was Darth Quietus and somehow he was connected to Emily. But, aside from that, Keenava knew nothing more about the man. She also supposed that he looked a bit different than when she last got a good look at him. Although she couldn’t place why. Next to him, hidden beneath a hood yet brimming with the same nervous energy she had before, was Raia. Keenava wasn’t completely certain, but the power and emotion fit. Whoever she was, she did a good job of hiding her appearance and blending with the woodwork, but the uncertainty was familiar enough to pick out. Behind both of them were two large dogs that looked very imposing. Keenava remembered seeing them at the Last Call, but framing Quietus and Raia as they were, they looked a bit more imposing; almost as if that were their job. The Twi’lek, taking a more nonchalant route, ambled to the front door, clinging on to the side and staring at the other end of the hall where Sheog sat. She pulled her hood down, revealing her ruby eyes and black lekku, and smiled to Sheog before continuing in a legitimately bashful voice. “Hey Sheog, I forgot to ask... Oh hi! I didn’t know we had more guests.” The Twi’lek took a few cautious steps into the room and acknowledged the large dogs before stopping a few feet away from the main table. The Assassin leaned a little to get a closer look at the duo and grinned a little when she saw the girl hiding under the hood. “Hey, Raia. That is you under there, right?” Keenava said, a small tug pulling at the corner of her smile. She paused, feeling the energy of the room for a moment and her expression hardened. She straightened her posture and bowed a little in Quietus’ direction. “Hello as well Master Quietus; apologies for the intrusion. I simply wished to inquire with Master Sheog as to lodgings for the night. It was getting late and I wasn’t sure if we had some drawn up, if we needed to inquire, or if I should just pull up some sand and sleep outside.”

The dusty red of Korriban’s canyons glared at the Twi’lek as she left the hall of assassins. Eyes of long dead Sith Masters loomed over her, counting her steps and marking her breaths, judging her mercy and seeming abundance of overconfidence. But Keenava ignored them. The Assassin knew what she’d done. And, despite its outward appearance, there was a method to her ‘madness.’ There were other options available to her at the time. Some of them were even preferable than the one she chose. But, in the end, she felt that a show of force was needed. The term ‘break,’ as Exodus used, was vague enough to ply and manipulate. But she didn’t wish to abuse that versatility. Her method, as it was, was to measure up her prey. The information she gleaned from her interaction with the metal man was far more constructive for future altercations than simply destroying him. He would do anything he could to succeed. Desperate, like an animal in a cage. Fear, or what seemed like fear, ruled his basic reflexes. Her target, would also not be an easy kill. The flesh of it seemed to break easily, but mend quickly. Total and complete manipulation over the metal man was required to render him inoperable. Maybe a lightsaber would cut his skin, but a more appropriate and subtle method would be to put him in a stasis field and wrench him around with telekinetic force. It could be sudden and sneaky. And the move would cause untold destruction to the exterior of the metal man’s frame. Something about the man’s reaction poked at her though. As Keenava made her way toward Sheog’s praxeum, she felt a small tickle at the base of her spine. She’s a traitor to the Sith Empire… Am I? Keenava wasn’t exactly trustworthy. Lying was a tool to her. It was a tool for all assassins. Illusionism was second nature. And, at her heart, Keenava was a selfish being; all Sith were. Would she lie to get her way if it meant lying to her Master? Would it be worth it? What would she stand to gain? Keenava stopped a few feet before her designated rendezvous point and studied the large sandstone structure in front of her. Red sky and red stone sang stories of blood and war. Deaths of countless usurpers, allies, enemies, kings, lords, and masters echoed in the air. Treachery played in the air and washed through the billowing cloth of her hood. She’d struggled with her choices before. Keenava had been wrestling with that very same idea mere moments before she met the metal man in combat. Was this her path? Was this what she was meant for? A picture of Ryloth, unspoiled by time, flashed before her. Her sister was playing with a ball, beckoning her to join. Keenava smiled, a plume of warmth hugging the edge of her sister’s gesture. But, as Keenava appreciated the illusory kindness, an image of her father interposed that image and beckoned in a very similar fashion. And from that point onward, the image of Ryloth began to melt and lose focus. Keenava’s heart wrenched and everything went dark. Golden Eyes came after and years of tearing from this and that. Golden Eyes. It had been a time since she’d thought about him. And yet, last time they saw each other, she vowed never to leave him. Ironically or conveniently, it ended the same as it always had. He’d left. Keenava even made a point to see him when Exodus gave her a week, but he’d left. His labs were cleared and everything seemed to be as it was before he came. Don't run away again… These words were familiar. But the way he said them was different. His eyes creased a little and his smile remained. She could feel the intention in his mind and heard the song of his heart as it called out to her. Never… Weeks ago, it seemed. And everything had changed. Lies are a tool for assassins… Truth. But her love wasn’t a lie. She would probably always hold some of that love alive. Even when she realized who she was and came to grips with the mind-bending abuse that had torn her identity asunder, she still harbored something for him. Maybe that was her weakness. Maybe stubborn caring was her weakness. But everyone had something. Everyone had their wants and their needs. Exodus had ambitions; ambitions that were good for the Sith Empire, but ultimately, in the end, good for him. Keenava didn’t think that caring too much was a weakness. She understood, on a basic level, why attachments and care could drag you down and weaken your resolve. But she refused to believe that attachments had to be that frail. If your loved ones would not die for you – and vice versa – did they really love you? That didn’t necessarily mean that either of you had to die. But maybe, if called to make the ultimate sacrifice, both of you wouldn’t bat an eye. She didn’t have anyone like that. Furion was gone. Again. She doubted his feelings were genuine, even if they were. The fire still burned, but the oxygen was gone. It was a dim light that refused to dwindle but had been forced down to mere sparks. And her sister. She loved her sister, but she knew nothing of her. That bond hadn’t been rekindled and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Still… As Keenava mulled over her sister and thought of her manse on Talus, her team arrived. Each one of them had procured an outfit much the same as hers. However, their outfits were made of black silk, not leather. Procured from Sheog’s finest tailors, these silk copies of Keenava’s outfit were lightweight and easy to maneuver in. They created the illusion of six Keenava’s. And yet, allowed them a little more freedom of movement. Like illusions and mirror images they would surround their objective and strike when the time was right. It wouldn’t work every time, but the idea was one of many that Keenava had thought of while training. And, like mirror images, they were expendable. They were willing to die at a moment’s notice. Exodus had done a service to prove their loyalty and they did not shake in that regard. Did that make them strong? Or was it the aspect of questioning one’s loyalty that made loyalty stronger? Were these sheep? Was that what Exodus meant when he asked her to ‘groom’ them? When she had time, she ordered them all to get brands on their necks, just below the hairline. The brand was a simple line that ran vertically down their spine. Then, when they’d done as she’d asked, Keenava cut her hand and rubbed a bit of her blood on each scar, letting the color of her blood dry and crust on their healing wound. It was a simple act and one that Keenava wasn’t entirely sure of. She tried to imbue her blood with the force and seal the brands with her word, but she wasn’t sure if it worked. Sith alchemy wasn’t really her forte after all. But, with time, she would establish the kind of mental link she was looking for. Then her team would act as she acted. They would be a cohesive killing machine; trained and tailored to the needs of Keenava and the Sith Empire. ______________ << Response to Raynuk and Raia Montar>> I am terribly sorry, Master Sheog is currently entertaining a guest. He is thoroughly bored, but also surrounded by food. So, as you can imagine, his interest is elsewhere at the moment. As I am the current acting majordomo for his illustrious gluttony, because the others were eaten, I will see to guiding you to the appropriate landing pad. From there, you may approach the main dining hall to address his illustriousness yourself, or you can entertain yourself in one of the many attractions that the Praxeum has to offer. Please. Enjoy your stay.

When her blade crashed against metal, Keenava’s mind lit with realization. Her tumble gave her time to focus and when she leaped to her feet, she was ready. Her thoughts were clear and her cold gaze pierced the gap between them. A dim red hue glowed from beneath her hood. No mind to read. No thoughts to see. It’s likely a manifestation or a droid of some kind. Some pulse indicates a malevolent force deep within, but no organic brain activity. "Tsk, tsk, tsk…" "It seems I only needed to cast my hand to break you. For a metal man with no emotion, you do a remarkable job emulating fear. But, in your foolish charade, you have forgotten three things." "One… Thralls rushed in, misguided and hoodwinked to believe a falsehood. Their feet pounded the ground with fervor, thinking that, for a second, their orders were true. Keenava reached out spectral hands and combed through the anger and revulsion as it rose in the tide of swarming guardsmen. The fire of their internal conflict burned against her and swam with multi-faceted potential. When she was sure that all their emotional turmoil was clasped in the open palm of her ghostly hand, she closed her manifestation, forming a fist. A fist that she turned against the rampaging guardsmen. Not at their bodies. No. Killing Exodus’ loyal guard would be poor form. Their minds were putty in a wave of mental suggestion that pressed against them and culled their useless march. Denial swarmed through their certainty and stopped their procession. The guards that rushed in, with their weapons drawn, started to mill about and go back to their duties as if nothing happened. A few guards were tougher to crack and took more energy to assuage. But, when all was said and done, the fury of guardsmen had ceased and they were no longer rushing into the hall. … You underestimate me." Keenava finished, a small smirk dashing across her ebony face. "Two, your façade is convincing, but you lack the sheer mental presence of my Master. Your foolish ploy was entertaining but wasted. Keep that in mind if you ever decide to take the shape of a force user." During her speech, Keenava didn't move. Her ruby eyes continued to stare forward, burying deep into the droid's photoreceptors. "Three. You and I both know, that if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. I have wasted enough time with you. Ally or enemy, that is not for me to decide. Target. That is what is important right now. I was told to break you, so I have." "Good luck metal man. Let’s hope you don’t end up on my list again someday." With a parting glance, Keenava slipped her blade back into its sheath and vanished. The overflow of energy left by the rage she absorbed, blanketed her body and suffused her with darkness. She simply winked out and shot down the hallway. When she left the entryway to the hall of Assassins, she was greeted by a herd of wandering guardsmen. They were still a bit delirious from her mental attack and it would take some time to wear off. By that time, Exodus would’ve sorted everything out and righted the few complications that existed. Either that or Keenava would have to deal with the aftermath and figure it out from there. When the assassin was sufficiently out of earshot, she keyed her comm to report back to her master: "Master, it seems your droid is a bit jumpy. I think he’s learned his place. If he needs a reminder, you know how to reach me. In the meantime, I'm heading to the praxeum to outfit my team."

As the fate-weaver kissed its final target goodbye, parting the thin flesh of his neck with its keen edge, a sharp trilling sound hit the assassin’s ears. Her quarry fell to his knees, and in a sputter of futile resistance, tried to claw at her before his body fell uselessly to the sand. A gasp of defiance was all the cadaver could muster before retreating to the silence of death’s cold embrace. But Keenava didn’t break stride. With the cool indifference of muscle memory, the assassin wiped the lifeblood from her weapon and placed it back in its sheath at her hip. She callously placed her boot on the limp form of her final target and listened intently to her comm, digging her heel into the cadaver’s spine. Her master’s patient words told of her deeds and made her inaudibly preen. His commendation was commensurate with a job well done and Keenava made no effort to hide the smile that graced the shadow beneath her hood. Ivory teeth glinted in the low light of Korriban’s hazy desert atmosphere. It seemed all was not done, however. For her master’s next command, was vague, yet condemning. “There’s a man headed down the long hall of the Assassins ... Break him.” “Yes, Master.” Keenava sent a small comm to her team, asking them to rendezvous at the entrance to the Praxeum and wait for her there. Then, after dragging the corpse of her target to the nearest chasm and throwing it in, Keenava made for the hall of the Assassins at break-neck speed. Force-imbued muscles powered her flight and pushed her beyond the confines of mortal constrictions. The joy of spilling blood and the pride felt by her physical prowess, fueled the speed of her feet and carried her far. And when she arrived at the mouth of the building, she crouched, shifting all her kinetic energy into potential energy. The Twi’lek tensed her quads and her core. She jumped to the ceiling and used the force to hold her aloft. From there, Keenava crept down the hallway and suppressed as much of her force presence as she could. She silenced her breathing and made each movement with the care and dexterity of a leaf drifting on water. Each elegant step of her form as she crawled on the ceiling was meditated and weighed. The twenty-foot tall ceiling would put her considerably higher than her opponent and the wide hallway would give them plenty of space to move. But the dark was notable as she drew deeper in. It wasn’t a problem for her. Her target, however, that was a different story and not a story that she knew. It would be stupid to think that the dark would only serve her when her opponent might have similar abilities. She couldn’t think about that though. Her senses picked up a thinly veiled presence wandering amidst the sandstone hall and zeroed in on the target with every perceptive power she could. The hall, twenty feet tall and fifteen feet wide, was cold and dark. The air grew thin and the spider drew ever closer to her fly. Embracing the cold chill around her, Keenava let the cool steel of her blade drift from its sheath. Images of the assassin, clothed in her shadowy robes appeared to the wanderer as he continued down the hall. From afar, each looked as real as Keenava herself. But upon closer inspection, they were phantoms. They were ghosts that spoke with poison. They carried her words to disguise her true location and helped her ready herself straight above her target. Keenava's blade drawn, breath held, and eagerness tested, she projected her thoughts through her phantom army as her target ambled alone in the dark. Existence is a question. What do we do? Why are we here? The words echoed in the stone. And, just as the echo of her words faded, Keenava dropped from the ceiling and sliced at where the man’s jugular would be. When her strike finished, she tumbled to the stone and stood a few feet from the man, blade at the ready. Death is the answer…

Stood, Keenava did, silent as the grave. The five in her charge stood behind her, equally silent. They were a court of dark reverence, watching the torture of the elder Anzati with rapt fascination. Keenava hadn’t had a chance to observe the Dark Lord’s work and was marveling at the craft he used to expunge valuable information. A niggling conscientious suggestion wormed its way into the back of Keenava’s mind as she looked on though, questioning the meaning behind the Dark Lord’s gesture. And the quote that followed the question, was even more probing. You could give it all up and remain here, in sanctuary, what do you say? Rumo’s words, once again, echoed in her mind. It was a feigned misgiving, but one that she decided to consciously consider while she held her quiet repose. It was a loaded question. And one that led to no small amount of conflict in the Twi’lek’s past. She could have stayed on Arachnakorr or gone back to Ryloth and tried to live a normal life. But, every time someone entered her house, she would have the urge to jump into action. She would never trust anyone ever again; not to the extent that most people want. The trauma of her past would keep her wary of all men she encountered. And she would gauge or case a place whenever she entered. Every moment would be a test of survival. Even a simple excursion like buying things at a store would become as complicated as a military operation. Not to mention, after days of no fighting or activity, her body would cry for exertion. Her hands would yearn for the spilling of blood. Knowing that, she could have been a mercenary or a military officer. But their art was too mundane; to typical. They didn’t kill with art or finesse. Military officials were told what to do and where to do it at every phase of their career. Their kills were choreographed and blunt. Which meant that Keenava’s only options were to be a Bounty Hunter or an Assassin. And if she were going to be an Assassin anyway, it would make little difference if she had tried to forge a normal life. No. The chance for a mundane life was gone. And Keenava couldn’t run to it now. That path was so thick with brambles that it would be a fool that chased it to its end. Keenava was set on her path. It was who she was now. And the surety of her choice was what guided the grace of her steps. She was the Dark Lord’s apprentice; she was the Nightshade; she was the Shadow Hand. “The names, the names that I’ve sent you, I want you to erase them. All of them. They are the weeds in the garden of our madness, yank them from our grace. Use your team, do it quietly.” Keenava’s blood red eyes opened, a fiendish glow burning inside. “As directed, Dark Lord.” And with his word, the reverent court of darkness disappeared. Six assassins spread, names in hand, to the farthest reaches of the Sith holdings on Korriban. Dark herbalists, the assassins spread to exterminate the weeds on their list. One by one, the violent coup ensued. Umbaran shadows lay in wait, watching as their targets isolated themselves and acted with ruthless efficiency. The Zeltron drew each of her targets away with promises of affection and cut them down. All obstructions were disposed of in large canyons, incinerated beyond recognition and added to the bones of Korriban’s past. Keenava wove a string of death through Korriban’s silent sands. Seductive hands wrangled and webbed those foolish enough to fall for alluring deceit. Cold claws of death met those that wandered too far from their group. And others were taken without explanation, a shadow robbing them in the dead of night, expunging the useless shrubs and cutting the chaff from their ignorant comforts.

Keenava nodded her head and followed Braku around the amphitheater of the dead. The assembled were gathered around lost Sith Masters like flies to a glowing flame. Keenava read a few historical documents pertaining to the ancient Masters that were buried in these tombs. And the blanks were later filled in by Exodus and Furion. With deference to her betters, Keenava did not stray into the entrance of any of the tombs. She did not veer away from Braku in his tour. The Twi’lek simply looked on, her hood up, bowing ever so gently as she passed the gaping portals to the damned. Braku walked a span of sandstone that ran further away from the Praxeum. Here, a large variety of groups lingered. Some were evenly organized and did not react as they walked up. Others were milling about with casual small talk and snapped to attention when Braku and others of the inquisition accompanied him. The Zabrak motioned with his scepter at the gathered groups and bent his head in a gesture of light prostration. “Master Exodus has given me leave to assist you with your task. Here are one hundred of our fighting forces. They are the best of our warriors and you shall have the privilege of picking a few to join you.” Keenava smiled but moved her arms outward, indicating that Braku should stand back. Without a word, Keenava shrieked internally through the force. Her face was motionless, but a powerful psychic scream went through the minds of those assembled. It washed over the men and women before her and many them started to cry out in pain. They were not pushed to any lethal extent, but pain was the tool in this exercise. “All of you who flinched, please leave the group. And don’t lie, I will find you if you do.” Keenava said, a hint of glee in her tone as she reached for the hilt of Clotho. When the indicated troops left the mass of one hundred, there were only thirty strong. Most of the troops left over were shadow assassins from Umbara, which Keenava understood. Umbara was hardly a place of rainbows and Nabooian gumdrops. Their days were likely spent rubbing elbows with pain and desperation. And those aspects could be powerful motivators. Next, Keenava challenged the remaining thirty to a race. From where they stood, they were to run all the way to the end of the canyon. If they beat her or came close to beating her to the other side, they would stay. If they didn’t, they were out. A few of the contenders were silent and others seemed cocky. Keenava had no more to say in answer to their dispositions. The Twi’lek dipped into a low ready stance a few feet behind the group of thirty. But when she signaled the start of the race, the Twi’lek shot off with incredible speed. Adrenaline fueled her muscles and the force helped to guide her flight. Air and exhilarant effort pushed her further and further until she ended up at the finish line, seconds after she had started. One of the contenders managed to beat her, and ten of the thirty managed to get there within the first minute. The rest were sent away before they made it to the end of the race. Of the eleven remaining: eight were Umbaran shadow assassins, including the one that beat her. Two were warriors from Krayiss. And the last was a tall female Zeltron with latent force capabilities. “Alright, for the second to last trial, I am going to tell each of you a secret that you are bound not to tell any of your peers,” Keenava said, passing through the number of warriors gathered around her and whispering something in each ear as she passed by. When all of them were finished, Keenava stepped into the middle of them and held her arms out from her body, facing toward the ground. In the following seconds, massive amounts of pain, fear, anguish and malice poured into the eleven that stood before her. The force power it took to pull that much energy through the air was a bit taxing. But she had to be sure. A few minutes passed; half-an-hour passed; then forty-five minutes passed and a few started to crack, revealing the useless things that Keenava had said to measure their loyalty. The ones that cracked were sent away and only eight remained. Keenava smiled under her hood, examining the ones that made it this far. But the last challenge was the ultimate test. Keenava bowed to each of them and then plunged into one of the temples. She said a small prayer to respect the elder that was buried but shot into the darkness, indicating that her prospects should follow. A few moments passed before the eight troops proceeded into the tomb after her, each making their own acknowledgment to the dead Sith Master. What they found, was a blanket of velvet night. There was no visibility here. In the dark, there was only the thinning light that emerged from the open canyon. The eight that participated refused to give up though. They moved further into the tomb and pushed onward. Keenava, having run only a few feet into the tomb before she clung to the ceiling, listened to her promising squad members and waited for one of them to trip up. Her hand clung to the hilt of her right knife and her mind occupied itself, waiting for the moment to strike. Minutes passed, and a boot scraped the sandstone. Keenava lashed out, slicing a throat and then cartwheeling back into the darkness. Seven left. Rocks clattered around the toes of another. A swift strike later and he was nothing more than a puddle. Six left. The sound of a knife clearing its hilt and heavy breathing were heard not far from where Keenava hid. One slice in the gut, and then a quick retreat. Five left. Hours passed. Nothing. Silence. When Keenava determined that the remaining candidates were adequate for her purposes, she indicated that the trial was concluded and that all her new squad mates could report outside. Even after her dismissal, the assassin heard nothing. They were very good; whoever was left. Keenava slipped off the ceiling and then slithered outside to find the five promising candidates standing in a row. The small Umbaran shadow that had beaten her in the race survived. The Zeltron female had survived. And the last three were significant, but the depths of their identities would be deciphered another time. Keenava smiled and paced up and down the line of women that were gathered before her. “Congratulations are to you ladies. You are all members of my elite assassination team. When I stop talking, you will introduce yourselves in order from left to right.” The Zeltron female stepped up and said, “My name is Madia Cavaerus.” The small Umbaran stepped forward and continued, “My name, before I became an Umbaran shadow warrior, was Mina Uthiss.” The other three followed one at a time and introduced themselves as Qarta, Indiko, and Palla. Keenava bowed her head, acknowledging the introductions. She took a moment to breathe and then stopped before the group. “As you know, I am the Dark Lord’s Apprentice. I represent his right hand in the Assassin branch of the Sith Empire. With that, comes certain responsibilities. Considering the importance that he has granted me, I wish for you to consider instead, that I am the right arm of the Assassin branch of the Empire. From there, you can deduce that you will all serve as my hand. With me to guide you and assist you, we will carry out orders given to us by the Dark Lord as if we are his own limb. We are an extension of his will and if we act in opposition to these whims, we are no longer fit to live.” Keenava intoned, a gravely serious expression plastered across her face. “If you break this oath, you forfeit your life to me or Master Exodus. Do you understand?” The group nodded in unison and looked to Keenava for guidance. The Twi’lek smiled once more and then nodded in return. “Alright, let’s go find Exodus.”

The rose wilted a little; maintenance ignored and care retracted. Meanwhile, the chattel chanted with fervor for their master. Fervent husks, with little else in the galaxy, were drawn to an uproar. They spoke with fierce intent. Their words were loud and their hearts were strong. Yet, their yearning wasn’t natural. The intensity did not belong to them. Exodus was their leader, their master, their puppeteer. His game was elusive. It hung in plain sight, but simultaneously far from perceivable inclinations. Keenava understood this because Furion’s ambitions were often cut from the same cloth. However, such methods were difficult to decipher and thus frustrating to work around. Her attention drifted for a moment to the vacuous, raucous affliction that spread throughout the feast hall, but ultimately stalled when she reached for more food. Her choices hinged on the ample supply of comestibles and the conversation’s tense underpinnings. The ‘pleasance’ of the topic at hand, coupled with the lovely bouquet of smells that wafted through her addled mind, made her decision for her. After all, to her, meat was a luxury that she couldn’t often afford. She wanted to avail herself of it while she could, even if her host was simply content with covering her face in spittle. She’d hoped he would be somewhat interested in carousing and possibly reminiscing. Her expressive reception came with the expectation of such an exchange. Yet, his focus rested with her Master and Keenava’s interest in small talk started to wane. The Hutt was still a friend, and would probably have to commit something grave to destroy her affiliation, but his attention was diverted and she began to figure that her energy was best spent elsewhere. Metal mixed with the tangy taste barbecue sauce filled her mouth just as she received a small chirp in her ear. Exodus’ visage was absent, but his voice filled her ear just the same. It was a short message, but Keenava picked up all the subtle details and excused herself from the table when she finished her plate. A polite curtsey and a few thankful words to the lord of gluttony were the only gestures she imparted before the Assassin wiped the debris from her face, replaced her hood, and disappeared. Her silhouette was lost in a cloud of darkness. And within moments the cloud dissipated, leaving nothing in its wake. Keenava reappeared on the steps of the Praxeum, hands on the hilts of her knives, leading out to Korriban proper. The Grand Inquisitor stood where Exodus left him. The Zabrak Braku Qesraa looked at Keenava with a smile and bowed ever so slightly when she approached. “Hello, mistress Keenava. It is time to get started. Follow me.” Braku said, motioning with his scepter.

The din of tension and deliberation hung audibly around the room. The Dark one and the pretender stood at an apropos juxtaposition. Exodus, the father of a new generation stood and brooked no trust for the hooded figure. The other, a pretender - a husk, chittered away behind false pretenses. Their words were not intended for her. It was not her conversation. Keenava remained focused upon Sheog, awaiting an answer, but her thoughts, her ears, and every available exterior sense probed the rest of her environ. The Jedi supplicant foolishly wandered when he should have heeled. But that was also not Keenava’s affair. The art of conversation was a complex one. Finding the words that lay beneath the surface and the subtle chess games that were played between two opposing powers was a finesse that Keenava knew. She was no master. But the banter that wedged itself between the two Masters was something that followed a pattern. It wouldn’t do to interrupt and break the formality that engaged both figures. It would simply break the flow and drive all emotion toward her. Any hostility, derision, hate, or apathy that flew between them, would follow their eyes if she chose to interject. There was nothing for it. When Exodus’ careful gaze fell on her, she felt his will upon her. It wasn’t explicit, but she could pick out the meaning of his intention even through the subtle gesture. With a slight tilt of her head and subtle twitch of her lekku, she silently regarded her Master’s acknowledgment. Although her right hand was gripping the ornate handle of a fork, her left hand was hovering in wait over the knife that rested at her hip. Whatever happens. Faust’s closing words were cold. He interjected in an affair that wasn’t his to know or understand. The word fool sent a small pick of ice through the center of Keenava’s eyes and a small fire built deep within her, but she smothered it. It wouldn’t do anything. There was no purpose behind it. And, above that, it wasn’t her place to disgrace the sanctity of her Master’s conversation with her petty whims. Kheldar was one of her friends and she had had no intention of turning his cantina into a Sith paradise. It was her dream to make it as popular as it once was years ago when she was a more consistent employee; a dream that would wait for some time, but a decent aspiration nonetheless. Silent and eating, Keenava eagerly awaited her friend’s response and bid no farewell to Faust as he left. Her gaze was hard won and he had done nothing to earn her regard. Exodus, however, composed himself in a way that drew the pretender’s hand. And for that, Keenava’s regard of her Master grew. A smile crept across her face. It was a small gesture but meant in equal parts for both Exodus and Sheog.

Keenava was utterly unenthused by Faust or the former Jedi Dahar. Her extrasensory nerves would not let her forget their places in the room, but she couldn’t care less about their dialogue. Faust disrespected the hallowed ground he walked on. Furion once told her of those that rested here and that their deeds were celebrated among the Sith. This man, whatever he was, insulted the order no matter which way he spilled his slimy words. Bringing a lizard of force nullifying power to a feast created to honor the Dark Lord, was a huge affront to the structure that derived Keenava’s purpose for being here. On top of that, the Sithling that prided himself with importance above his station attempted to educate her master on what ‘Fear’ was. Even if it was a crude rebuttal to her master’s own retort, it still made Keenava laugh. Dahar on the other hand just didn’t register as someone that Keenava needed to know. Exodus was certainly keeping stock of his presence, but Keenava was here for Exodus and Sheog. She grabbed a little at the bantha that the Hutt had left on the platter and put it on her plate. Instead of turning to face either Dahar or Faust, Keenava turned to Sheog and smiled. “Sheog! I meant to thank you for loaning me money for that manse. I trust my follow up payments made it to you?”Keenava said before eagerly swallowing a mouthful of bantha meat. It was a little cold, but excellently marinated. It was moist and deliciously cooked to a texture that Keenava had to savor for a moment before continuing. “Oh, and I almost forgot. It seems that the Last Call is up for auction. The owner has been gone for some time. He and I were friends once upon a time, so I put up a modest sum to pledge my interest in buying the property. If you wanted to, you might be able to petition the auctioneers as well. Some Coruscant property would surely benefit the Sith, if not your own monetary interests.”

Tension bloomed in the air. Tendrils of cold, tarry, black apprehension spread from all corners of the hall. The din of its influence was palpable. And whether she wished to avoid it, the omnipresent sludge wasn’t going to permit evasion. Its path was indecipherable. And although a cloud of nothingness stood close to her, she could feel the apprehension wash over her. Like the wave of a mighty ocean, it demanded submission through powerful oppression. But, Keenava’s focus remained. Even with her Master’s thoughts swimming through her head, influencing her hand to grip at the steel of Clotho’s handle, her focus remained. Her head tilted toward the only figure in the room – save the Jedi – that she didn’t recognize. He seemed to be the center of everyone’s attention. His aura was strangely absent. If it wasn’t for the lizard that he wore, his void would have unsettled her. As it was, it simply upset her. The clogging sensations of tension began to make more sense. And if it weren’t for her Master’s own reticence, she might have killed the man for daring to bring such a detestable creature into her friend’s temple. Sheog’s invitation – made in between plentiful bites of Bantha meat – abruptly halted her observation and stirred her thoughts. It jarred her concentration for a moment and his pleasant humor was a welcome break from the obscure mist of feigned and repressed aggression. She smiled underneath her hood. Sheog’s hospitality was rivaled by no other Sith that she knew. And his remarkable kindness, even to a former slave, was extraordinary. There was a reason that he was one of three friends that she could count among the ranks of the Sith. Of course, 'friend' may have been a strong word, but she wasn’t going to split hairs. The black Twi’lek slid her hood and mask back so they no longer obscured her face. She looked toward Sheog with pristine ruby eyes that glittered in the opulent light display, hanging above the grand feast table, and smiled. "Thank you friend, it’s nice to see you again. And I would be honored to sit next to you." Keenava approached the edge of the rotund table where the Hutt sat, happily gorging himself, and chose an open chair next to him. She declined the offered galoshes, asking instead for two large napkins – one to place in her lap and one to put in the front of her chest armor like a crude oversized ascot. Then, for the next few moments, she made a conscious effort to reach for food that the Hutt had not chosen for himself. Keenava had some experience with Hutt dining habits and was rather fond of her hands.