Raphanel

So they would turn next to Onderon. The throne of the Spider. A planet now devoid of its princely class, whose people were without guidance. Without a hand to lift them from the void that they had been shackled to for the last decade under the rule of the Sith. He made a formal bow to the emperor, and strode towards the doors. It was time to gather the forces, and begin a formal presence in Iziz. He almost ran face first into one of his fellow Knights as he made his way to the doorway. He shortened his steps and held his hand out to the man as they walked together. “Knight Skyshatter, your reputation proceeds you. I am glad that we may work together on this affair. Do you have any insights into what we may need to bring peace to that erstewhile planet?” Aide was always necessary. Food, medical supplies, the rest. Not to mention a search party for recovering Alliance pilots, jedi, and soldiers that had been lost on that failed crusade.

Galas as always were a colourful affair. Growing up in such a house as Contispex had seen him at hundreds of such events and after his joining to the Knights, he was glad that he did not take a hosting role in one. THought perhaps the Emperor intended to change that. “We will of course serve as you so desire my Emperor.” He brought his right arm up across his chest in a diminutive salute. “We will be your hand as we were Raven’s. Where can you best use us?” There were of course rumours abounding across the galaxy of some remnant Sith that peeked from the shadows. Mostly false of course, but his inquisitors were investigating every substantial one.

A Gala. Some imperial tendencies never died, no matter how many times the royal households were laid to ruin in a galactic war. Here in the heart of the core worlds, diplomacy, angling, and all the other fine arts of advancing a household up the imperial ladder continued unabated. Much as it had under the short reign of the Sith Lords and much as it would in whatever damned future the galaxy would throw at the fledgling government. Raphanel took a deep steadying breath and threw his cape over his shoulder before walking towards the head of the table. There would be time to socialise with the others later, for there was someone much more important to talk to. He swept by the dancing and talking to where the emperor sat. Raphanel bowed deeply as was fitting of someone of such rank. “My Lord, I hear that you have need of the Knights?”

The Star Destroyer Reverence emerged from hyperspace over the once capital world of the erstwhile Galactic Alliance. Savaged by the Sith in an act of violence that had left the entire galaxy stunned. The already weak republican government, then deprived of the few remaining strong leaders swiftly collapsed and surrendered. The world itself still bore the scars of the decade ago act of cruelty, but the population was slowly filtering back. Still nothing like before and large swathes of the world remained eternally dark and unlit. The only remaining population the sewer rats and gangs of anarchists. Nothing like home. The cityscape turned a stomach long accustomed to the wide valleys and clear blue mountains of Chandrila. But there was duty to be done and Raphanel would answer as his family always did. He stepped off the transport craft and made his way to where the Sovereign was awaiting him and the rest of the called upon Knights.

The smell was starting to clear. Expended simtex ammunition had a distinctive ‘rotten eggs’ smell which could stuff up the nose and bring choking tears to the eyes that could linger for hours on a battlefield. Same with the bitter ozone scent from plasma artillery, but a fierce wind had already started to pick up as the sun rose to its zenith over the battlefield. Its breeze clearing the smell of battle and driving it further into the distant plains, leaving only the sights of destruction and devastation. Bodies were being collected, wrapped in the black permafoil of bodybags, then loaded one by one into the bays of waiting hovercraft. It was a dour business, but the squires conducting the retrieval did not complain, placing bodies of friend and foe alike with reverence and silent meditative prayers. Those of the Sovereign houses would be taken back to the core, where stewards and knights would hold silent vigil until they were buried. Those of the enemy would be buried on the battlefield. Names that could be recovered handed over to local governance. But now it was time to depart. Another brutal campaign completed. Another dark enemy vanquished. And more young men and women consigned to the dirt when they should have seen long and happy lives. Lives of peace instead of devastating war. He gestured to his crew of valiant Knights and together they departed for the core worlds.

It was hard to read the facial expressions of the Mon Calamari. Their faces were simply not made for such things and though it was disconcerting at first, Raphanel knew that the Jedi Grandmaster had no reason for any kind of deception. So he walked beside the short woman and listened as she spoke candidly of the situation on both Falleen and the Galaxy at large. “It would not be too far of a stretch my lady to apply what has happened here on Falleen to the galaxy at large. We have the resources of my family and Chandrila to help these poor people but without a strong and stable government it is unlikely there will be any lasting peace. We have seen the Sith not only here, but also on Naboo where they attempted to assassinate the queen and killed one of my knights as well as one of yours. They have gone to ground, planting their seeds of destruction. We must all face the evident facts that Nar Shaddaa was no great victory for us. Only a maskirovka, a grand masquerade.” He stopped his steps and turned fully to the Jedi Grandmaster. “I respect and honour the calling of your order, a calling I once took up upon myself.” He did not mention the schism by name, it would have only brought a fracture to their conversation. “But I must urge however I may against the Order’s desire for cultural isolation. If only because I know how much stronger the light may be if we walk together in its pursuit. You will always have our assistance if you need it, and should the moment come when the Sith arise again against the galactic verge I have no doubt our two orders will serve beside each other with distinction.” His eyes glanced heavenwards towards his family's Star Destroyer, which lingered in the pale blue sky. “I rejoice in your mission Lady Grandmaster, and will join you if you desire it if only to provide you the transport to Ilum and some construction materiel. Though if you deem it better that a broken soul not be around someone such as myself I also understand.”

A presence. Personally unfamiliar, though still recognizable in the force made its slow approach. A Jedi knight. No. This was much stronger and did not carry the haughty arrogance that he had long come to associate with the Jedi of the higher ranks. This was one of the new generations of the Jedi order. Those that had grown up in the fading power of the Galactic Alliance and had held their sabers aloft in the fight against the Sith Lords of Onderon. A generation they had come too late to save their own order from schism but early enough to save it from utter destruction. And Raphael knew, in his heart of hearts, that if this generation of Jedi had been leading the order some half a decade ago they would all have been united under a council of better men and women then himself. But there were some things that were better to not think of, and pining for what might have been would help no one on this planet at least. The lumbering Galactic Alliance had fallen twice. Once over Onderon and finally at Coruscant, and it had taken the last of the old Jedi order with it. And whatever bitterness he may have had towards the order had died with them. Buried under a trillion tonnes of duracrete on Coruscant and drying in the gutters of Iziz. So the Lord commander of the Sovereign Knights turned from his men and looked towards the tired Jedi Grandmaster. He gave a formal Chandrillian bow, though without a cloak to sweep behind his arm there was not much formality to it. “My lady grandmaster. You do me much honour by visiting us, let me give congratulations to your Knights in their defeat of the Sith Lords and their heathen temple. My time is yours as my men continue their clean up and treatment of the wounded. How may I be of assistance?”

His voice was surprisingly soft after the last hours of active combat. Barely above a whisper, so that only those beside them would hear and there would be no embarrassment upon Piotr or his house. “Turn your sorrow and regret into resolve.” His bright blue eyes looked at the rising sun that had pierced the heavy cloud cover. A beam starting to creep across their small gathering showing the steam of condensation drifting up from their armour, as the cold morning air began to move in a breeze. “Resolve that we will not ever allow this to happen again. It will not erase the regret, that bitter sorrow that comes with death at your hands. But having an objective will help begin the process of healing.” He stepped forward and pulled the young man into a hug. A strong and supportive hug. This war for now was over, and the heir of house Malczewski would bear its scars. Adrienne stepped forward and when Raphanel broke from the hug she was there to give Piotr a hug of her own. It was time for the Knights to begin their investigation into where these Sith Lords the Jedi had encountered had come from.

The force was filled with a sense of despair and fright. Without commanders and without further direction or battlemeld, the Sith aligned forces were now nearly on the edge of route. The Knights and their soldiers had punched a salient into the lines of defence around the capital city, while the Jedi Knights took out their command and control. An effective if entirely accidental result which had led to where they were now. Sith combat units had landed in system directly after the Knights had arrived and had been swiftly engaged and killed by the Jedi Order. An impressive feat which had revealed far more information than the Sith likely wanted to let the Sovereign Alliance know. They had not died at Nar Shaddaa, and their ships that brought them here were to be found and the hyperdrives analysed. He held up his sabre again and glanced over to Tygo who had held forth a brilliant flash of light to protect young Caridian Heir. The dour young man of Noctural was proving himself more than useful every day. Adrienne was doing well with her rifle, but they were still outnumbered. A brief counterattack that used the last of the Sith strength that was quickly beaten back, but young Malczewski was down. Raphanel took a breath and directed a blast of the force towards the remaining Sith soldiers, flattening them and allowing his men to finish them off with quick blaster bolts. An application of the force and he lept to where the young man was. Frozen, staring at a young casualty. A death at his hands. The first in close combat, and one he would likely never forget. “Tygo, roll up the rest of the line.” He shouted, “I’ll cover the boy.” The battle was won, and it would be finished by the competent Falcon, it was time to look to their own. Stepping close he shut off his saber and snapped it to his belt as he unclasped his cloak and threw it over the young woman’s body. Its rich folds of grey covering her soft features from his view. Adrienne took one arm and Raphanel the other and they lightly pushed him to sit and lean against the side of the trench. “Strength lad, you freed her from the pain and evil that had possessed her. Feel no shame in such a thing.”

So the Sith had been here. Raphanel was almost surprised in the movements of the force, for both of the Jedi had won their combat with the darksiders. An anomaly in his experience. The Jedi had mostly been known in the last decade for valiantly laying down their lives to set off the internal reactors of deep space casinos and blowing up Kuat. A good sign and a good omen for the galactic peace. A final peace perhaps, if they could but discover where these sith had ushered from. Where their bases of hiding had been and whatever warren they had ensconced themselves in for the last few months. But why had they shown themselves here? Would it not have been better to withhold such a hand for later? When the doldrums of peace had taken the galaxy from its place of alert? Someone had been careless. And Raphanel’s heart sank in his chest as he brought his saber up again to deflect a repeating blaster round back at the soldier that had fired it. So the war was far from over, and the sith had not been fully defeated. Another reflection and he moved after where the young man and Adrenne had disappeared to. He called on the force and brought up a shield of protection around their trenchline, to give them time to hold fast as the rest of the infantry moved up. But with the defeat of the Sith vanguard, it was likely that the battle would end quickly.

The force whispered in his ear like a lover. Flashes of images, warnings, encouragements, all flowing through his mind as he strode before his men like a warrior king of old. His blade, a yellow orange beam of energy, held aloft like a banner. The hilt was old. A relic of his family from six generations before. Its ornate design showing filigree of the exploits of Adathan Contispex during the Stark Hyperspace war. However grand the order of battle may have been, this battle would be a costly one for the household guard. The soldiers bounded from cover to cover behind him, their faces a mask of grim determination and terror. But they fought well as a unified force which would easily if not immediately overwhelm the broken falleen defenders. Raphanel's lightsaber moved seemingly of its own accord, intercepting bright red bolts of heated energy that were aimed at him and his troops and spinning them back towards those that had dared to attack the house of Contispex. A faint whistle came through the storm of shouting and blasterfire accompanied by the familiar itch of danger sense and Rahanel brought a black hand skywards. He pulled heavily on the force, and the mortar rounds exploded metres overhead, their deadly concussion and shrapnel fuzzing into a white fury of energy and the force. He sighed and his breath misted a pale white. His eyes also caught the colour of a white blue as he drew upon the force to inspire and protect his friends. He brought the blade up again as it crackled with the white energy. Spreading a veil of protection above them all. The force in its white aura leaked from his eyes like tears. Tears that reversed their fall and streaked up to his temples where a brilliant crown of glory had begun to weave itself upon his brow. “Forward!” He shouted and fears were dampened in the hearts of his allies replaced with the driving force of righteous justice. And terror likewise siezed the hearts of those that served a throne of fangs and blood. For Justice itself had come to Falleen, and it carried the blades of the Sovereign Knights.

Emerald blue light flickered at the edges of Falleen’s orbit. It lasted only a millisecond, looking to all the world like a strike of lightning. If there was any remnant of a space command on Falleen after it had been stripped of everything of worth for the Nar Shaddaa Campaign, their scopes would have identified several mass shadows on long range scopes. A half a second later and the sharp dagger form of a Victory-II class star destroyer emerged from hyperspace alongside several fleet tenders and two old model Quasar Fire-class carriers. A single message was relayed through guard frequencies on repeat as fighters and troop shuttles began to make their way towards the planet surface. “Falleen Command. On the orders of the House of Contispex you are to stand down all local defences and submit yourselves to disarmament. This system is now under the jurisdiction of the House of Contispex and the Laws of the Sovereignty.” Civilization had returned. The Darkside would find its end on Falleen. Slavery would crumble, and whatever shadow had revealed itself here would wallow in its defeat. In the belly of the destroyer the Lord commander of the Sovereign Knights surveyed those that had heeded the call. He summoned the force to him and reached out to the minds of the many Knights that stood at attention. A Battlemind they would form, coordinating every movement as they began their assault. In seconds the shuttles would launch, and the bright white blades of the Knights would again be raised against the Discord of the Darkside.

A distant note in the force, a chord of dissonance played in the back of his mind. There was no further use of this meal and meeting. And the look of the Master of Exorcists confirmed it. It was time to go. No longer could they tarry away from the call of justice. It would be a tricky thing, but with the blessing of his family, they could frame the invasion of a sovereign planet correctly. The Contispex, on another one of their damned crusades. This time for true justice. With a sweep of his gloved hand he pushed his chair back from the table and looked to the head of the table. Where his mother and Father sat, staring directly at him. Silence fell with the sound of the scraping chair and the guests and family members dropped their conversations to see what he would say. “Mother a blessing for us on our journey.” He turned his eyes to meet his fathers and made a stiff bow. It was returned with a nod of his regal head. “You have our blessing Raphanel. Falleen will come under the protection of the Contispex. We will stretch out our hand and lift them from dirt and darkness. You have the assets of our dynasty at your disposal. Do not disappoint us.” Raphanel bowed again and looked from side to side at his companions. It was time to go. There was a distant rumble. A hundred engines igniting as starfighters and the Contispex Victory class star destroyer prepared themselves for departure. Some many thousands of soldiers and warriors of the Chandrilian house would partake in this outreach to Falleen. Starfighters, troop shuttles, and at the very heart a new model Victory Class Star Destroyer Oriflamme. Perhaps not enough to fight a legion of Sith, but it would be enough to topple a fading pawn of a government. It was enough to prove the might and political ambition of their house.

Raphanel held up a hand to prevent any further outburst from any of the Knights, especially the more military minded who were quick to jump into combat, or his fellow family members who were notorious for needlessly duelling the night away at the slightest provocation. It was not fast enough to stop an additional provocation from Edsbryder. But that was the expectation when such a family was involved. They were hard fighters, and had earned a reputation for honour in the face of evil, as they dragged themselves from centuries of decline. “Enough.” His hand dropped and he looked to the two men that were now very close and very much on the brink of a fight. His voice sounded as tired as he felt. “Sir Malczewski, you will be provided with weapons and armour from my family's personal armoury. And though rudimentary, you will also receive training in the few days journey it takes to bring us to Falleen.” He looked to Adrenne who nodded her head in response. “A brightblade and shield if you may be so kind, dear sister.” She smiled warmly and strode off towards the distant doors at the end of the great hall. She would know how best to provide for the young man, as though she was not a Knight herself, she had received many years of personal combat training. As all those of the Contispex line did. “Let us all return to our meals, and share good company together. There is no need for harsh words or violence. A mission lies ahead where we will all need to stand for each other without hesitation or remorse.” He picked up a glass of deep wine and tipped it in silent salute. He took a drought and smiled. “And here she is, returning so quickly.” Adrienne came carrying a bundle under each arm. Handing each in turn to the young Heir of the Malczewski house. First, the gold etched latticework of a hand held energy shield. Originally the work of Naboo artisans, it had been carried by one of the force users of his household who had fallen during the stark hyperspace war. A Brightblade followed. One of the many mass produced lightsabers of the clone wars, whose kyber crystal was vat grown synthetic. With a crossguard of steel and cortosis filigree. Light armour in the Contispex style. Gold and well polished.

“I agree Prince Tygo, the people of Falleen have suffered enough. And they must be brought out of the mire the Sith have sunk them into….” He trailed off as the youngest of their part spoke. Speaking doubts into existance like a conjurer in the city market did with roses. Niether of which was in any way flattering. His pure blue eyes looked from the Lord of Exorcists to the Prince of the Edsbryder to finally the young Malczewski who had interrupted them. His gaze sat there for a moment, blue staring into a pool of muddy brown. The pause lasted two heartbeats, long enough for the young man to know that his words had not been ignored, before Raphanel’s eyes swept to the matching blue beside Piotr. His words were soft, only carrying to those within the circle that he had invited. “Sister, I had not heard the family spies tell us that the Malczewski line lacked the strength of valour.” She grinned and shook her head in response, her hand finding Piotr’s and giving it a kindly squeeze. As Raphanel looked back to him. “The force will see you through the worst of it. The training your family has already shown you on weapons through the rest. And should the last minute come for you, I have no doubt you will prove yourself the man your father desires you to be.”

High above the planet’s surface, at the very touches of space and atmosphere, appeared two very distinctive dagger-like warships. Nasra and Ardell, sister ships of the newest line of Imperial Class Star Destroyer. Recently acquired and off the line from Kuat Drive Yards, painted in a pearl white paint. The Shipyards itself had swiftly and without ill will laid down its Sith banners and assumed the banners of the Sovereign Alliance upon the news broadcast from Nar Shaddaa, and was now pumping out Alliance designs as fast as its yards could complete them. ____ There at last came the valiant prince of the house of Edsbryder, his vampiric demeanor giving half the household a shiver down their spines. Some grew silent or turned primarily to their meals, but Raphanel did not. He stood immediately and after taking the datapad gave the man a hearty embrace and the Chandrilian kiss on each cheek. Ignoring his mothers loathsome stare and his father’s grimace of disgust. “Do not apologize, this is a feast after all, and you may come and go as you like.” He glanced at the datapads contents before hurriedly putting it into a pocket of his coat. Though watching cultists meet their grisly end may have excited several of the guests at the gala, it was very unlikely it would brace his own appetite. He gestured for the man to take a seat and was about to take a seat himself when another figure appeared. A diminutive figure, and one he had not seen since long before Nar Shaddaa. A face that caused his own to break into a great grin. He threw his chair out of the way and embraced her fully, kissing her on each cheek and beckoning her to the table. “Knight Elieson. Most of us had feared you long dead, what a pleasure it does my heart to see you here. Your birth is of no matter.” He would have cried had he not been in the presence of so many that looked up to him. It was undoubted that the very heart of the Imperial Knights, its strongest and greatest future, lay in this room. A multitude of great houses, old veterans, and the newest members. He took a moment to say a thankful prayer for the blessing that had been hard won in blood. He smiled widely as they all took their seats again. He waved to one of the young women who stood beside the wall who approached and handed each of the many knights a small disposable datapad. This was no beyond top secret mission, and those of the Imperial houses knew that to speak of Knight business outside this room was to sign their name under ‘exiled’ in the family tree. It was safe enough to speak openly though in undertones. “My dear friends and new acquaintances, this may be no tales of valour, however...” Here he looked at Malczewski and Adrienne who was busy trying to catch his eye before continuing. “I think many of you here already know what I am going to say, but I shall go ahead.” He opened the plastine cover of one of the datapads, and the glowing crimson planet appeared, outlined in the ghostly blue of Holo. “We as a united force have cleared most of the inner core and midrim of the Sith Plague. However, one bastion is outstanding. The world of Falleen. A world that has been gripped by slavery, brainwashing, and evil. I need not explain more for the sake of our dinner guests, other than to say that a Jedi strike team has already been dispatched to this world.” He smiled and ran a hand across his bearded chin. “I do not think the Jedi are capable of such a test of their might, and have asked you all here to assist in the redemption of this world. I know that many of us have been bathed in the darkness of warfare for many years, but we are needed. Not only for the good of Falleen itself, but to show the galaxy that they are never without our Justice."

His mother’s smile seemed to be plastered over her face and painted over with the garish makeup that the only most elderly of Chandrila thought fashionable. She held the smile as elegantly as she could as she curtsied to Montjoye, but when she saw the young man that followed her an actual smile broke out. Nearly cracking the makeup powder on her face as she seemed to light up like a beacon with happiness. Seemed was the word for it at least, and Raphanel had seen the masks his mother put on to deceive or to guide, and this was certainly one of them. “Oh the house of Malczewski!” A political power move it would be then. And upon seeing one of his many sisters ushered forwards up the long table, he knew exactly what would come next. Adrienne, towheaded and not yet nineteen, cutsied low before the young heir of the house of Malczewski. She was a charming girl, even if the heavy dash of freckles across her face and nose spoiled her looks. Raphanel gave her a charming grin then looked to Montjoye. He embraced her fully, giving her the kiss of peace on each cheek, before doing the same to Malczewski. “You both are very welcome at our table. Please take the seats beside me. Eat what you wish. And after dinner we can talk business.” Both places were cleared of food, and the opposite seat beside Piotr was also cleared for Adrienne, who looked to him with wide eyes and a little apprehension.

He took another bite of the boiled muja dish, letting the harsh Kelmar spices mix with the aftertaste of sweet wine in his mouth. Every time he visited home he was always reminded of such heights of civilian life. A life he had pretty much not known for the last three years of warfare. Three years of constant battle against the sith, trenches, starships, bitter, broken worlds. All of them fought with little distinction from the next. the only subtle joys the five or so minutes one took to cook a field ration. That subtle warm blandness as a congealed egg that had been cooked 100 years ago finally was eaten. Some of those rations, at least in the old outposts of the war like Sannagar or Thronsis, dated to pre-imperial years. Their Aluminum covers imprinted with insignias and inspection dates that had nearly covered them. And now here he was, eating lab grown steak along side of family that had never really seen the war. Sure the old vacation home at Rexour ridge had been destroyed by the Mandalorian starships, but who at this table had even thought to go there outside of old summer years of childhood? Dangerous waters. And Raphanel could harken a darkness looming over him. A silent and viscous bitterness that had crept upon him like the evening shadows. Now it stretched long across the table, covering smiling faces with a masque of twisted and unfeeling pride. A martyrs pride that looked to the crowd around the pyre to be remembered with appreciation. To be thanked and blessed for long service, to be rewarded. And when no such reward came to begin to hate those faces beyond the rising flames. How could he hold onto such a bitter grudge against a family he was glad had not been slaughtered like a trillion others? Had he not fought to preserve them from such a fate? Was that not the reason he joined the old order? That he had pledged his life, his youth, and his hope upon? So that those he cared about would not suffer as he did? And now he begrudged them such a thing? It was a strange revelation to see one’s self as this. To be bitter and angry at those that he sacrificed himself for would be to throw the entire journey on its face. Bitterness held no place here. There could only be gladness. Gladness for a life lived In service. A peace hard won. And the sweet memory of those left behind in dark trenches that stank of foul blood. He raised the glass of sweet wine to his lips again, saying the silent prayer of thanksgiving. For Kyrie Eleison of eternal memory. Who had sparked the hearts of the revanchists to action while the Jedi slept in their towers of ivory. For the holy emperors of eternal memory. For Dagon the bold, who had turned the wheels of fate. Who had begun to turn the Emprire from evil. And for Raven Nasra who had finished the quest of her predecessors. Who had bought galactic peace with tears and blood. Twice. He took another long draught of the wine when he realized that silence had fallen upon the table. His haze found the steel ward of the house who was about to speak. “Lady Contispex, may I admit one Sir Piotr of the house Malczewski-” A lesser house recently devoted as stewards of Carida. A lofty position and one that his mother would not mind in the least- “-and one…” here the stewards voice seemed to choke. “…Brenna of the house of Montjoye.” A harlequin. A non human hybrid of no stature in the imperial thrones. But an apprentice of a saint. And Raphanel could not be more glad as the two of them walked into the dining room. The party would be interesting indeed.

“I cannot marry, what life could I give a woman?” Raphanel’s voice was elevated enough to carry from one edge of the family table to the other. Answering his father’s barbed question as calmly as he was able to. “What woman would want to wait the weeks away, hoping and praying that her husband did not die in some secret mission he cannot even talk to his wife about? What life would that give my children? I cannot be an absentee father in good conscience.” Here he looked again to the family patriarch, who glowered at him through gray white eyebrows. But he knew the questions were good ones. He had brought his family much honour in ascending to the rank of Lord Commander, and as a bachelor he was likely to bring several dozen offers from the high families of the Imperial Court. It would only be a matter of time until some cute imperial girl, likely from Kuat, Carida, or Bastion showed up at the table to attempt to win his hand. All Raphanel could do is pray that she was smart, intelligent, and at least a little pretty. So that cut out much of the Kuati girls at least. But for now he would continue the pointless debate. It was fun afterall and it kept his brother’s and sisters laughing.

It was strange in a way how little the comforts of youth now did for his soul. He had always found the great palace and the eons of history that were etched on its walls a comfort to his wandering heart. Now after a decade of war, a war that had nearly destroyed much of Chandrila’s great architecture, the house and grounds felt soulless. It had not borne the scars of war, it had not borne the devastation and starvation of the thousand worlds subjected under the Sith Lords. It had stayed aloof, its great white marble buildings standing tall while a galaxy mourned. The grounds had lost their character. But still there was a comfort here, and he scooped his nephew up in a great hug that left the child laughing, his small hands pulling at the edges of Raphanel’s beard. He carried the young boy into the dining room, setting him on his highchair next to his mother. The young woman gave him a wane smile. Eyes looking at the military uniform which still carried its worn and charred edges from the last few weeks of combat. “Raphanel, a pleasure as always to receive you.” He inclined his head in return and sat down beside his brother and let the polite conversation wash over him. As the three dozen members of the high family began their meal together.

The crown remained perched upon his brow, providing a beacon of light for the slaves to follow as they were led to the alliance shuttles. Until when at last they reached safety, it flickered twice and faded away. Its bright mantle replaced by the shadow of exhaustion. That sickening feeling that reminded him of his youth on Chandrila, university parties that had been stretched longer by copious stim and alcohol use. How long was the one after the final study? Six, seven days? His eyelids drooped with the memory, as he stumbled to a seat on the landing ramp of their inbound shuttle.He could feel his gloved fingers drumming the surface of the slated impact tile ramp. The shakes and tremors of force exhaustion starting to creep up his extremities as his body got its first chance in many hours to relax. It would be a painful few weeks ahead. As for the other knights, Kara began to distribute ration packs from the supplies they had packed onto the shuttle, and Michael kept the sightless group of slavers huddled together. Harmless as the slaves they had beaten so ruthlessly for the last few years. A small part of him was glad that he knew their fate. And what was likely to be the fate of the entire Umbarian ruling class. A swift evidence based trial, then the only punishment suitable for slavery, rape, and torture. Execution.

So now a more direct evil would make its ploy, and a red blaster bolt spun through the air, missing a slave girl by inches and wasting its energy in the decking beside her. The Imperial Knights moved as one, Raphanel and Michael turning their focus from direct attack on the slavers to protection. The slaves, almost as one group followed the light of the bright crown that sat upon the brow of the Lord Commander. Stonelike abandonment turning to hope and ecstatic joy. Life returning to limbs and bodies that had long been bowed under whip and collar. Light formed a thousand complex concentric circles, arcing out like runes carved into timeless stone as Michael brought his hand up to intercept another blaster bolt. Catching and dissolving the crimson blast before it could snatch the life of a child who had many decades of life left to live. He looked sideways to the youngest member of the Knight’s cohort, and she nodded in reply. Kara Thren-Sarrati spun on her heel and ran towards the heavily armoured slaver the now much beleaguered Qessax, her red hair flowing out behind her like the mane of a Tuk’ata. Her slender black clad form sprinting as fast as the force would send her, her movements becoming almost liquid in the murky light as she slowed to a stop beside the brave Kaleeshi. One second being alongside the pack of now nearly shielded slaves, and the next second beside the Alliance operative. She knelt and placed a hand on the durasteel decking, calling on the living force. Beneath the heavily armoured figure, the durasteel flooring began to shift. Where once were long eroded stains now began to shimmer a gray white light. And where the light touched the metal moved. Animated like a living thing, what had once been ore inside an asteroid from times immemorial, what had been smelted down and formed into kilometer sized sheets for transport three hundred years before, now moved with life unseen. The metal remembered its old forms, its essence changing, becoming liquid, hard crystallized durasteel becoming as soft and pliable as bread dough. It could sense the evil that tread upon it, feeling his lust, his anger, his crimes. Crimes that cried out for a justice that only the Durasteel could deliver. It would be the vessel for justice, and who could deny it? Was this task not the very thing its original Creator had bestowed upon it? The decking swallowed the slaver whole. Devouring being, armour, and evil heart as one.

His pale blue eyes searched the human faces that cowered close to the ground, most so long exposed to ritualistic abuse that they barely felt the terror that a year ago would have clung to their hearts. Some eyes were closed, dreaming of a life that once had been, before the Sith and their evil had brought them to this hellish world. Some looked blankly into the grime on the hangar’s floor, relaxing into the stark darkness of the control chips. Having long ago learned the futility of resistance, giving into the numbness and exhaustion. But there were some that still carried the fire in their eyes. The one’s with bruises, the ones with the red white welts of slavers whips, the one’s whose bodies had been defiled for resistance. Whose clothes were stained and torn. One such slave’s face turned towards his, yellow green eyes glinting in the dim light of the hangar. A young woman, not even to her mid teens, whose high cheekboned Kuati face was covered in the purple black of deepset bruising. An Imperial, one of the unlucky to be stuck on Kuat when it fell. Her eyes found his. And a prickling sensation ran down his face beside his nose, a sudden warmth of a tear. And in that darkness of the hangar he could see a smile of sudden courage and a glimmer of hope on the woman’s face. She had lived through hell. She had stared into its depths, and felt its fires. But the gates of hell would be trampled down. And a hand would pull them all from the grave. Raphanel opened himself fully to the force, letting it fill every part of him, he wove it within himself, letting it settle in him like a pool as he strode out of the darkness. Filling him until the force bled from him through every pore. A black glad form that dripped with molten light. They were here on the mission of the angels, and the Raphanel would use every power bestowed on him and his bloodline to bring forth Justice. The Slavers at first gawked at the tall man in black, who bled tears of white light from pale blue eyes. And they rallied almost at once to bring this stranger to heel, raising whips like swords to fall upon the man in black. Almost as one the throngs of the wips fell upon him, slashing painfully at his clothes and face. But the light was now moving, forming a crown of light that sat upon his brow like a halo. And it burned. It burned their eyes to cinders, snatching away sight from those now unworthy to see again the world of the living. Their war cries became screams of terror, as the unrightious fled before the eyes of light. Stumbling and falling to the ground in horror, pawing at eyes that could no longer see, as wickedness devoured itself before the light.

The force moved with anticipation. Tense strings of soul and passion vibrating like plucked strings of a Chandrillian harp. Alliance soldiers and commandos waiting with held breath, slaves cowering under the next blow and wishing silently for a death they knew would eventually find them. And the blood like flow of evil that pulsed out from each of the slavers. It dripped from their fangs with every breath. Hatred, towards those that they believed lesser than themselves, lust towards those few female slaves that had survived this long. And somewhere in each of the Knights there was the cool and calm resolve of a warrior preparing for a fight that might take his life. Each of them knowing that they fought for the highest cause there could be in a galaxy of chaos. Order and Justice would be fulfilled on this lawless world. And they would extinguish the evil that lay so close to them. They slowly stood, keeping within the shadows, and began to call on the force. It was time.

The force was stirring, the first ripples of a disruption echoing across its still surface, an anxiety crawling across the force like a spider stepping towards its prey. Threads of the force bending under foot as Quezzex’s plan came to its tipping point. Suspicion, and fear was beginning to permeate the minds of the slavers and mechanics. And a small point of danger was beginning to swell. Raphanel could not pinpoint the source, but it was there, and it would begin to spread. Anger, anxiety, fear. And at last resolution. Someone had decided to act on that fear. The Knights prepared themselves in the darkness, moving on silent feet within the shadows. No Lightsabers, no weapons to give them away. He reached into the force, accessing the force in the way only a long trained master could. Out went the current reality, the anxiety, and the worry. In came the calm and reassurance. His mind touched others, reaching out to every anxious mind with a calm sense of reassurance. It was a soft touch, the soft touch of long experience, telling those minds that there was nothing to worry about. That they had done enough to protect themselves, that they had done enough already. Reassurance. Or at least enough to buy the Operatives the time time they needed.