Krath Apothos

Nok stumbled up the hill, hearing the serpent trailing behind him. More than that, he could feel the creature's presence, like a dark, black pit starkly outlined on a snowy plain. But if the serpent was a pit, then the surface of this world had been hit by a meteor shower. Pain and fear assaulted Nok from all sides. It had begun as a brushing across his skin, but as he delved deeper into his Force-tapped senses, the gentle touch turned insistent, his mind growing more sensitive. He was adapting. All around he could feel the echo of pain, every individual call cutting off and ending in silence. Some petered off into nothing, others sharply ended, but they all died in the end. Their pain was a precursor to their death. It didn't save them. It meant nothing. Not my pain, he thought. As if to accentuate the point, Nok stumbled and crashed to the ground, face in the dirt. Agony burned through him, but it seemed distant. Unimportant. No. Not unimportant. Not for me. Not for a sith. Nok breathed in, his ragged gasp peppering his body with spikes of hot pain. He remembered his lessons, how he'd felt that first time he'd managed telekinesis. He remembered how he'd expected the Force to be there for him to grasp, and how it had responded. Not to his desire, but to his expectation. The Force existed to be ruled. Nok let the pain in, let himself wake up enough from his stupor to truly feel the agony of his body, and then he let it push him further and further into the Force. In a sensation becoming familiar, he let himself unravel into the Force. As his pain pulsed through his body, each pulse created ripples in the Force. The Force he was a part of. He could feel it pass the rock he'd tripped over, pass over the grass, the dirt, and the serpent. Nok smiled, and kept walking. I can use pain to see. That's interesting. Perhaps this is an opportunity. A chance to drive myself to new heights. Best way to teach a man to manage money is to take it away after all. Nok stopped at a rise. He could feel...plants. Tall ones. Trees? Yes, trees. And cobbled paths. He was in a garden. But there was so much wreckage. And where was his master? Nok had come following his presence, but he couldn't find it now. Where had... It was so close he almost missed it. There, at the bottom of a crater. A single ember, small but white-hot. A power and presence that transcended pain and rage. Pure power. He's so weak... Nok considered. He considered it for several long moments. No. Not yet. Nok fumbled for his data pad. "Pilot...(cough)...bring the ship to my location. We need to leave. And prep the med bay."

Nothing existed but Nok’s silent scream. And fear. No time passed here. No relief came. The fear didn’t ebb or flow. It pressed, constant. It flowed through him, brushing away his thoughts before they could form like cobwebs tossed into a roaring river. Nok knew…something. Something beyond this but…the fear. And the scream. ______________________ Nok didn’t wake up, so much as simply become aware. His face burned, but his body couldn’t move to cradle it. It didn’t seem important anyway. His lungs barely shuddered, his breathing shallow. The metallic smell of blood stained the air. Nok opened his eyes. He realized his eyes were open. No… Blind. Nok laughed, or tried as his lungs woke up. A sick combination of a chortle and vomiting swallowed the smell of blood with the hot stench of bile and the fungus he’d had for lunch. The whole situation…it was so ridiculous. Nok had stumbled upon…what? Some kind of force sensitive flushed pet? Then he’d accidentally entangled with it psychically, and THEN he’d gotten his rear handed to him by the legless beast? He’d been blinded by a kriffing animal! Despite the sharp pain it sent through him, he kept laughing. And laughing. And laughing. His chuckles turned into gasps interspersed with silent laughs, blood streaming down his face like tears of laughter. He stumbled to his feet. The Force swirled around him him, buoying him up as the pain, fear, and laughter blended into something dark and twisted. Turning like a compass, Nok found his master's presence in the Force, and...the beast. The words came back, bleary and disjointed. The beast had asserted its power over him, communicating not with words but directly, through ideas. It wanted his master. It wanted power. It wants to be a sith Nok's laughter grew into a wet bellow, blood and spittle flying as the pain of his shredded face grew near overwhelming. Follow me beast... he projected to the creature, the act instinctual like flexing a finger. Nok coiled on his own mind, forming a corner hidden from the serpent. And we shall see who devours who in the end

The whining of the floor panel servos echoed through the maze under the fwoosh of the flame traps. He jammed something. Fine. I've got time, and he can't find me. As if to mock him, a familiar canister shape dropped in front of Nok. "No! I'm not supposed to-" Nok's words were cut off by a burst of sizzling energy. He collapsed backwards as a million insects on fire scurried across his skin while a sun exploded behind his eyes. Yet, he wasn't dead. Nok opened his eyes, skin still tingling, everything around him blurry. As his eyes focused, his brain caught up. ...an ion grenade. Laughter bubbled up inside of him, and Nok stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from giving away his position. An ion grenade! Ha! You moron! Why would... Realization hit him like a bucket of ice water, his glee shriveling instantly. Frantically he looked down at his now dead controller. No, no, no! Work! He pounded the controls, pushing the manual reset over and over. WORK! he silently shouted as he slammed his wrist into the wall. Nok wondered if he was dreaming, as the wrist controller flickered to life. Yes! System Reset NO!!! Around him, the columns slowly withdrew into the ground. The wall panels whirred as the laser turrets folded back in. The floor panel still whirred. He might still be close to there. Nok sprinted, jumping onto one of the dropping pillars and leaping off of it towards the whirring panel, depowered vibroknife in his hand, his pistol a useless piece of steel now. As Nok rolled across the floor in an acrobatic fall his trainers would have been proud to witness, he saw two things. One, the armored man was no longer at the panel. He was clinging to one of the pillars somehow. Second, a rifle was wedged into the panel. A rifle that hadn't gotten hit with the ion blast. Have to be quick. As Nok reached his feet he flung his knife at the warrior. There was no way in Chaos that little blade would pierce that helmet, but reflexes were a hard thing to fight, especially regarding something sharp headed for your face. Nok grabbed the stock of the rifle, and with pure panic-induced adrenaline powering him he wrenched the rifle out of the jammed panel and fired blindly at the warrior. ((3))

"Where are the cameras on this thing?!" Nok muttered as his fingers scrolled through the options on his controller. Under the sound of blaster fire, Nok definitely heard the distinct pang of bolts striking armor, but the thud of boots didn't stop. Of course he has armor. Can't make this easy right? Nok's muscles unclenched a hair as he finally found the camera controls and activated them. Now where are you... Images flashed past, and...there! Dropping back down to the maze. Why were you- Any coherent thought in Nok's head shriveled and died as he saw the little metal canister bounce in front of him with a light ting. With a burst of speed he hadn't known he was still capable of, Nok ran, every step lasting so long he might have been running through water. He ran for the only cover available. The maze. THUMP The blast sounded like a thousand fists punching a thousand pillows at once, and a wall of air shoved Nok into the metal columns, slamming his forehead into the durasteel. Gritting his teeth and struggling to focus his eyes on his controller, Nok scrolled through the cameras. Aggressive little monster they dredged up. Let's see you get past this. A smile split Nok's face as he activated the option labeled Floor Trap: Flame "Let's have that...hmm...EVERYWHERE!" Nok shouted, not caring if the armored thug heard him as he started activating random sections of the floor over and over, only keeping enough care to avoid his own. The whoosh of fire shooting up into the air out of hidden apertures in the floor even as the blasters in the walls searched for a target they could no longer see made Nok change his mind. This hadn't been a waste of money. This was fun!

Lord Ekros watched in silence as this Sith silenced Lady Hyla. He watched as her eyes bulged, her mouth opening and closing breathlessly like a landed fish. He watched her proud back buckle as the Sith talked on, quiet and polite. Hyla's eyes shifted through a dozen impressions in seconds. First confusion, then realization, then fear, then understanding of her own mistake. As the veins in her eyes stood out in stark contrast, he saw the decision in her eyes. And he made his own. As the Sith stepped back, Ekros pulled out his holdout blaster, and pushed it against Hyla's head. "What are you doing?!" Ferion sputtered. "Come on Ferion, you and I both know Hyla's never going to go with this. She'll play along, then send this guy an exploding gift basket or something over the top like that." Ekros smiled as Hyla's eyes widened. "Didn't think anyone knew about that? Really Hyla, if you're going to kill your servants maybe be a little more subtle about it?" Ekros looked up and met the Sith's eyes. "Hyla is a schemer, but she's a rigid one. She won't stop fighting you until she's dead, just because she wants her 'golden age' back. Me? I'm more flexible. Ferion? He's an idiot. An influential idiot, but an idiot. You might need an object lesson to get through to him." Hiding his fear and pasting his best grin on his face, Ekros glanced down at Hyla for emphasis. "Do you want to do it, or should I...Master?" _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Nok’s silent scream as the beast’s mental fangs pierced him sent waves into the Force like a ship crashing into an ocean. The fangs cut past his lies, his denial, and his illusions to the heart of what he was. Afraid. Deep in the darkest, pulsing, quivering mass of his soul, he was afraid. Nok experienced every time he woke up in a cold sweat, every time he raised the heat when a chill ran through his blood, and every time he ignored it and pretended it wasn’t there. He experienced it all, in a moment and an eternity. Nok wasn’t powerful. He was a child hiding under blankets, a grub burying itself in the dirt to hide from the boots. This thing was stronger. Better. Superior. And it would devour him, and that was the way of the universe. The icy spikes driving into him towards his core brought a sudden flash of memory. He remembered a beast, with a grinning skull-like face. He remembered the searing pain in his side as the creature’s claws tore into him. The howlrunner. A beast. He remembered slitting its throat. He remembered cutting its head off and holding it in triumph. That feeling of victory, of passing the test with blood and knife. He and both howlrunners had stood against the other, and he’d been found stronger. As if a line had been thrown to him, Nok remembered other scenes. He saw businessmen cowering beneath him as he slit their throats. He saw factories exploding while he lounged under an umbrella. He saw videos of assassins butchering their way through dinner parties at his direction. A silent master, an iron hand, and a shaper of the universe. Nok was all these things and more. Weak? How could he be weak? He was a ruler, a puppetmaster, a Sith! This...animal couldn’t even imagine Nok’s power. That’s it. Nok reached out and grasped the creature, grinning, his face melting and twisting into the skull of the howlrunner Nok had on a pedestal on the Bleeding Edge. ”You think you’re better than me? You think you’re strong? Let me show you strength!” Instead of driving deeper into the beast’s mind, Nok pulled it deeper into his, pushing it towards his own memories. The first time he’d flown and seen the stars from the bow of a ship. The countless planets he’d walked across. Wastelands where his own industrialist interests killed wildlife in floods of rot and death. Worlds bent and broken under his whim, his command, and his design. Then he showed the beast squadrons of droids, assassins, mercenaries and saboteurs, all working on his credits. All belonging to him. He showed this beast what he was. A fulcrum of the universe. This creature was a speck before him. ((3))

Out of the doors strode the most well-armed...thing Nok had ever seen. Knives, grenades, rifle, pouches containing who knew what, and no doubt even more concealed in the battered but clearly well-made armor. "What is that?" Nok asked. The only response he got was the sound of the doors behind him closing, his trainers gone. Oh, so that's how this is going to go Nok's hands flew to the controls on his wrist, eyes searching the options. Maybe if he had an hour or two to train with this room he might be able to do something. But no, that was part of the point of the test. He had all the power here, but none of the preparation, just like the victim of any competent assassination attempt. "Defense first" Nok's found controls for Floor Columns and immediately began activating them, hoping they did what he thought they might. With a twinge of relief, Nok watched sections of the floor rise up into walls 10 feet high, staggered thanks to his random activation, but providing an impromptu maze and cover from the armored attacker. "Now try this Mr. Overkill." Nok pressed down on Laser Grid 12. And 13. And 14. And 15. The control beeped rhythmically as Nok activated system after system, the walls parting as the turrets emerged. Fire at non-friendlies Nok loved a good autofunction.

Nok writhed, lost in the Force as he grappled with that something. That...snake? Yes. A snake, a snake that had been flushed down the fresher, and still felt that fear. That fear drove its hunger and its desire for power. Mind and heart driving down deeper and deeper, Nok felt the presence buckle under his pressure. Glee radiated from Nok and into the void as he bent the creature that had been about to devour him, coiling it beneath his will and presence. He saw as the memory of the boy played out for the serpent, the Force making it real. The Force is us, Nok thought in an epiphany. The master here is the master in truth. Nok grinned and throttled the serpent, driving it further into its own memory, letting the fear creep in and erode its mind. He watched as the memory of the septic pipes trapped it in a dark, breathless maze. Then the snake twisted and squirmed under his mental grip, suddenly hard as steel, the memory a show and not an experience. Nok only registered it for a second before the impression of a dripping maw appeared before him and enveloped him. Mentally, he felt the creature sliding along his own thoughts, a thread in its jaws. Nok opened his eyes, and saw nothing but black. He knelt on the cold ground, not on the grassy, sunlit plain from a moment ago. He stretched out his hand, and could still feel the Force, but muffled, like hearing water rushing behind a wall. All around him was nothing but black. And cold. The cold bored into him, cutting past his skin and spreading through his bones. His fingers ached with pain, and every breath dug needles into his lungs. Nok grimaced and curled up, eyes tingling as the freezing air pressed in. I know this. My vision The vision he’d had a hundred times, each as real as now. The vision of him dying in the cold and dark, surrounded by- Something moved behind him, scraping across the floor, its size and power apparent in the casual motion. Nok struggled to turn and look, but his eyes could only squint as they began to burn with cold and his muscles locked up. Helpless. Weak. Powerless... ((2)) ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ As the Sith (Chaos below, an actual Sith!) finished, Ekros felt the world slide out from under him. The Sith were invading. Nok had allied with the Sith, and was doing so openly if this warrior was to be of any gauge. Hell, he apparantly was a Sith now! Everything added up. The haste of the meeting, Nok's forthrightness, the quick agreement to the Moff's estate as a meeting ground, the guests... Oh god, the guests. They weren't just here to sign over the planet and expand their respective fortunes. Each of them represented or came from a significant faction on Kuat. What happened in the next few minutes would determine how those factions were treated by the Sith. This wasn't a negotiation, or even a chance to plead and profit. This was a trial, and Kuat's nobility was before the judge. Whatever was said here would be known eventually to all of the Sith Empire, and to its emperor, and it would flavor or taint (depending on the case) the relationship between the conquered and the conquerers. Of course, as expected, Lady Hyla couldn't keep her damned mouth shut. "Excuse me?" she said, more calm than Ekros would have expected, but he could see her dark knuckles turned bone white as she clenched the arm of the overstuffed chair her bony form nestled into. "You bring invasion to our door and then expect us to kiss your boots to line our pockets? Do think so little of us that you expect us to abandon our loyalty at the sound of a few sirens and the promise of a few credits? I don't know what kind of whores you're used to *Darth Akheron*, but the kuati nobility do not roll over for every bully to enter our hyperspace lanes." Hyla straightened, her emotional explosion a few moments ago forgotten, her pride and refinement on full display. "I think if you intend for us to respect anything you have to say, than you had better respect us in turn." Lord Ekros had to admit he was impressed, even as he sidled away from her. No matter what Hyla's habits or tantrums, she could be a true daughter of Kuat when the moment called her to. Confident, intelligent, and demanding of respect and attention, she might be mocked but never ignored. Unfortunately he feared that she'd played this one wrong. The fact that she hadn't spat in the man's face or walked out was a good sign. It meant she was taking this seriously and realized the danger to her fortune, power, and underlings. Unfortunately she'd tried to protect them by putting herself and the Sith on equal footing, treating him as she might an upstart equal. And Lady Hyla didn't always treat her equals cordially, upstart ones less so. That whore comment had probably been going too far. Ekros noted Lord Ferion moving away just as he did. His face was pale, but Ekros could see as the man's eyes darted that he was thinking rapidly. The next few seconds would be interesting.

(Note: This hypothetical duel takes place several years before either character's canon appearance in the main plot. So Nok will not have any force powers in this duel) "Are you ready?" Master Miwak asked. The noghri trainer elbowed the back of Nok's knee, forcing the neimoidian to stumble, or else fall on his face. "Considering what I pay you, and what you asked for this 'special session', I think I should be asking you that. I expect to be impressed here." "You will be," Mistress Kida said from his other side, her lope easily matching Nok's long gait. "You hired us to train you to survive, and then you told us to spare no expense. This is what you asked for." "A warehouse that somehow costs more than three spice refineries? And I'm not talking about the cheap hutt sweat shops, I mean the glass and chrome jobs that get senators on Coruscant high. A warehouse that somehow has a 'weapons budget'? If this is one of those glorified obstacle course "Gauntlet" knock-offs, you're all going to find your checks a lot smaller." "Not a gauntlet," Master Miwak said without looking up. "A test. You want to survive? What was the third lesson of survival?" Nok barely hesitated, the answer coming by rote. "Control your environment." "Exactly. Your enemies will attack you when they think you are weakest, so strive to never be in a place of weakness." "So you've created a place of weakness to drive the lesson home?" "No," Mistress Kida said as the trio passed through a set of doors. "We created a place of strength." Before Nok stretched a massive room, hundreds of feet in every direction. Slate gray panels lined the floor, walls, and ceiling, electric-blue light running along the seams. Large, impressive, and...empty. "...I know you're waiting for a dramatic reveal, so please get on with it." Mistress Kida rolled her eyes and produced a wrist remote. A quick flick of a dial and the holographic display powered up, coating her arm with a translucent blue control system sporting hundreds of labels. Nok squinted to read them as she moved. "Section 12 laser grid?" Mistress Kida smiled, her predatory noghri teeth and glinting eyes remind Nok of a hungry cat. She adjusted the holographic controls, and the word "Deploy" flashed across the holographic interface in green. Across the room, a section of wall split open and a series of six laser turrets emerged, whining as they powered to life. "...oh." Nok's mind raced with calculations at the expense reports he'd received for this place. That translated to a lot of weaponry. Mistress Kida detached the wrist control, the holographic interface blinking out while the turrets moved back behind the wall panels. She tossed it to Nok and leaned against a wall. "This place is a seat of strength for you. You have control here. The test is to see how well you use it against something stronger than you. You have advantages, but can you exploit them?" Nok attached the control and marveled at the options that ran along his arm. "This place is overkill. What the hell do you want me to fight? A rancor?" "A rancor is easy. Tough but slow and stupid. You want to prove you can survive? Than you need something clever...and fierce." Mistress Kida pointedly looked to the other side of the room as hidden doors opened.

Nok barely heard his master’s words as he walked off the skiff, hypnotized by the presence in the fields. Something...something out there moved and watched him. It saw him… Nok allowed his mind to unspool further into the Force, the scenery melting away as he closed his eyes and his feet walked on mechanically. Bit by bit, his soul and sensations bled out into the vast field of energy surrounding him, into the universe itself. An impossible feeling to describe or capture, he felt a million motions and distant forces move the great sea of energy. But there...there was the one that moved with him. So close, he could almost touch it. Nok opened his eyes, and for a brief moment, his physical and Force-attuned senses saw as one. He saw gleaming, slitted eyes in the shadows. Then something brushed his mind. Perhaps it was because he had failed and recoiled when he had sensed his master’s dark presence on the ship that Nok did not retreat. Instead, he reached out and grasped the presence, his thoughts and emotions spinning out into the Force and into the thing that hunted him. His thoughts entangled with something else, and Nok felt the grass and dirt beneath his scaly belly, the taste of fear and sweat in the air...and hunger. Such hunger. Hunger for power. Nok knew hunger, he’d been born to it. He remembered his time as a grub, confined with his siblings with little food to ensure only the greedy and strong survived. He remembered his desire to kill and control his siblings to ensure they never threatened his food or life again. Hunger always has a reason. What is your reason? Why do you want it so badly? Nok’s fear pushed at him, struggling to ball him up and protect him from the thing that radiated danger, to force him to pray it would go away and leave him be. Nok pushed it back and instead wrenched at what he realized was a mind he’d entangled with. He pulled at it, struggling to draw it out into the Force with him, where he was strong. Instinctually, he wormed his way along the creature’s mind, looking for the source of its hunger. ((1)) ************************************************************************************** Lord Ekros closed his eyes and sighed as he listened to his fellow nobles bicker. "What sort of stunt is this?" Lady Hyla shrieked. At 73, it was a miracle the old bat had only managed three heart attacks given how "sensitive" she was, as she put it. The noble woman dressed in an overblown gown of red and blues that clashed horrendously with the greenery of the garden, a fact Ekros had no doubt she'd find some way to be offended about. "Calm down my lady," the waddling Lord Ferios said, eyes twitching back and forth. He at least was entertaining. Normally by this point the fat ironmonger would be apoplectic at being given the run-around like this, but he still couldn't be sure he wasn't on camera, so instead he contained his anger and tried in vain to keep Lady Hyla's shrieking fit from reaching orbit. Ekros gave the man two more minutes before he popped like a squeezed juma. "Shut up you drama whore!" Hyla spat. "This is your doing! You wanted a good show to humiliate senile, old Hyla right!?" Ekros had to give Nok credit. Whatever info he had on Hyla, to get a reaction like this out of the normally reserved lady it must have been something slimy. She could get loud, but he hadn't seen her this out of control since the tabloids had gotten word she was diddling her majordomo. "Or maybe it's you!?" Hyla turned on Ekros, finger jabbing at him like a force pike. "What are you stealing this time? You've got my engineers. What, do you want their lunch boxes too?" Ekros held up placating hands. "Don't look at me. I didn't call this meeting." "Sure, and-" "Who's that?" Ferios asked, cutting off Hyla. The other two turned to see...Ekros honestly didn't know what to make of the man. Dressed in armor, and clearly not native kuati. Nok's representative? Ekros had been wondering at the ham-handed antics Nok had used to call this meeting. Half the "guest list" hadn't even arrived yet, and Hyla was about to have a stroke. This all smelled of hasty measures, and that wasn't Nok's style. The businessman who always thought he was so clever with his company shell-game never acted until he was sure his own backside was covered with durasteel plating. And now...this? He doesn't look like Nok's usual go-betweens. Heck, he doesn't look like anyone's go between... A chill ran down Ekros' spine, and he involuntarily stepped back. This man was different. Different from Ekros, from Hyla, from Ferios, from every contact and associate Ekros had ever dealt with or double-crossed. He reminded Ekros of Nok once, when the neimoidian had been furious at Offworld for sniping one of his mining operations. Emotion compressed like a metal coil, with enough power to shatter bone. Ekros started to reply, but heard the sirens. What the hell? “You must be the three I was told of I presume? I am the one Nok spoke of, Darius Jadeo. Shall we head inside? We will have to make this brief, it appears my friends have arrived ahead of schedule. Most unexpectedly.” "...Friends?" Ekros ventured into the silence that followed.

"Slow down the skiff" Nok ordered, voice distant to his ears, mind deep in the Force. A part of him twitched with fear at the thought of angering his new master with such presumption, but the fear was tamped down as need overruled it. He had to find this thing. It wasn't a rational need, but instinctual. Nok suddenly had the clear image in his head of the technician and the arachnor who devoured him. The technician had searched the dim room frantically for the massive spider, yet had only glimpsed the creature just before it struck. Where was it? So close, yet invisible. And...yes, it had noticed him too. Nok couldn't say how he knew, but the echoes in the Force coming from the thing told him of anticipation, and of hunger. Pure hunger. Two of Nok's knives slipped into his hands as the skiff slowed. Nok distantly heard the wail of sirens in Kuat City rise over the plains. The fleet had arrived.

[OOC NOTE: This post takes place several hours prior to the arrival of the Axis fleet, and ends as the Axis fleet arrives] The Bleeding Edge snapped into real-space over Kuat, the luxury yacht out of place set against the backdrop of the Remnant fleet. In his suite, Nok gazed at the howlrunner skull set on the simple pedestal in the corner, his eyes running over the long fangs and the empty eyes. He'd long since memorized the shape of the thing, but he still found it put him in a contemplative mood to look at it. He needed to be contemplative after his failure. He needed to be calm. "Of course, we'll meet at the Moff's Estate outside of the Kuat City," the hologram of the finely dressed, dark-skinned human rattled on, as if quoting a shopping list. Nok looked down at the kuati noble. Lord...Ekros, that was it. "The Moff's Estate? Why there?" "Only place you could feasibly get everyone you want in one place. With the Remnant fleet in orbit, the nobles and the influential will want to pay their respects to the Moff..." Lord Ekros smiled. "And of course show how loyal they are." "And see how badly their own credits and titles are being threatened," Nok finished. "Military action is great for the ship-building business. Military action in their own backyard...less so." He considered, and liked the idea. It would be easy to get everyone into a secluded spot in the Moff's Estate for a meeting with Nok's new master, and once the fleet arrived there could be some additional opportunities presented from being in the right location. "Alright, gather your friends and move towards the estate. Make whatever excuses you need to." The hologram of the noble flickered, but didn't turn off. Instead, Lord Ekros frowned. "Is something wrong, my lord?" "This is an unusual move for you Nok. We've worked together before, and you've never moved this openly. Always representatives and shell companies with you. How many joint ventures did we have together before you personally called me? How many joint ventures before I even realized I was working with the same person on each of them? Yet now...the list of people you sent are all movers and shakers on Kuat, and you want a personal meeting with all of them? At once?" "Not me exactly. Consider me the go-between. But believe me when I say that this meeting could make or break fortunes, yours included. You've always been a good friend to me, and I see an opportunity to make us both obscenely rich, and powerful besides." Lord Ekros held up his hand. "Save the cryptic talk, I know the drill. No details over the Holonet. But some of the people you have on your list...they won't stand for riddles and veiled promises. How will you get them to attend?" "I have preparations to fall back on. Lord Ferios for example is a known publicity hound. I've used one of my of 'assets' to convince him of a high profile interview. He'll come running. And a certain Lady who shall remain unnamed has some compromising datafiles that would be quite damaging to her reputation if released..." Lord Ekros shook his head. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. You've always come through before." As he said it, Ekros locked eyes with Nok, making it clear the statement was an expectation, not just an observation. "Casual betrayal has never been your thing, so long as there's profit, and I like to think we're reliable investments for each other." The implication was clear. If Nok intended betrayal, Lord Ekros would be ready. Though Nok doubted Ekros would be ready for a Sith Lord. "You have always been the most pragmatic of men, especially for a human," Nok said, with genuine respect in his voice. "I would be a fool to throw away such an asset." "See that you don't. And remember that I'm not your asset." The hologram flickered off, and Nok rolled his eyes. These nobles and their pride. He keyed the intercom. "Pilot, have we been given permission to land?" "Yes sir. Under Lord Ekros's personal request our landing rights have been expedited." "And Lord Akheron's identity?" "Completed. One of the serving droids is providing him with the dossier now sir." "Excellent, bring us in for a landing. And arrange for a skiff. Formal standards." __________ The rented, modified HS-14 hover skiff cruised over the grassy plains of Kuat, heading for the Moff's Estate. Nok stood in silence beside his master, taking in the view. This planet was so...boring. Perfectly manicured and tailor-made for humans, unchanged for centuries. The nobles held their power and wealth with little effort, a part of the scenery as much as the hills and grass. Their petty schemes rarely ranged outside of their own atmosphere, and with a few exceptions like Lord Ekros they were far more interested in being nobles than doing anything with that nobility. At least in Nok's opinion. Nok was about to comment to his master, when something twinged at the back of his neck. He whirled, eyes roaming the landscape but finding nothing. He frowned, and extended his senses into the Force as he had on the ship. Around him the Force rippled, but nothing like he'd have expected from a planet so rich in life. It felt stagnant, empty, without meaning. His senses brushed against his master's presence, and he immediately recoiled. He focused again on the landscape around the skiff. ...There. Subtle, but there. A pressure, a current, something... Like the undertow of something swimming through the water. Nok couldn't find the source, but the echoes were there. Nok extended his senses deeper, letting the Force pull him apart and into it, the web of life weaving through him.

Nok listened as his master spoke, his mind still reeling from what he had done. The weights, the mats...he had done that. Not intentionally, but he had done that. The Force had moved under his touch. Under his...fear. With telekinesis many things which before seemed impossible, become possible. He repeated his master's words in his mind. Like grasping the universe, he added silently. As Darth Akheron lunged forward, Nok raised his hand and again found the staff in the swirling energies as his emotions stirred the Force into motion. Again, Nok had the brief sensation of his essence bleeding out into the Force, becoming one with the storm. Again he accepted it, and- Nok's senses brushed against something. A counter-current. No, not simply a current. A storm that dwarfed his own, a well of emotion and power so black and deep as to seem like a black hole. His master. With a surge of white panic, the unraveling of his mind into the Force turned twisted and gnarled like threads in the hands of a toddler. Nok withdrew into himself with a snap, instinct telling him to withdraw from this thing before him, this entity of destruction and power. The next thing Nok knew, he was on the ground, head throbbing once again. He slammed his fist into the mat. Weak. He'd broken his own rule. He'd withdrawn and chosen not to fight when he could. He'd let his fear rule him. Nok had no issue with a tactical withdrawal, with using trickery or underhanded methods to win. But this...he'd simply fled from his master's presence. As Nok, stood up, the tinny voice of one of his droids broke over the intercom: "We will be arriving at Kuat shortly. Please prepare for landing." Nok shook his head. "Apologies master. I need to prepare our meetings and landing procedures. We will continue this...later. If you're amenable..." [sTORYLINE CONTINUES ON KUAT]

...See the unseen, view that which is without form, that which is yours to control and take command of it... Nok lowered his hands and lifted his head upward. The ceiling of the gym blurred as he let his eyes lose focus. He had dribbled his passion into the Force a moment ago, afraid of losing the connection. Not this time. Nok reached out with all his mind, extending his awareness to that expanse that was the Force. He did not brush against it as he had before. No gentle push or controlled pull. He clutched at it, wrenching it with his will. For the briefest of moments, Nok had the impression of unraveling, as the Force flowed out of him just as it flowed through him, unspooling him into the churning void. The moment passed like a dizzy spell, and the Force all around him twisted. He shook the web, he was the web. Distantly, he heard the sounds of exercise equipment rattling across the floor, weights falling off shelves, the ripping noise of mats tearing. That didn't matter. This, this feeling, this control...This mattered. Standing at the eye of the swirling storm, Nok found the staff. Dead in the cold and dark Not afraid Dead in the cold and dark Not afraid! Dead in the cold and dark "NOT AFRAID!" Nok screamed. A sharp, deep crack cut through the noise as the staff shattered in two and pieces flew past Nok to clatter against the opposite wall. Nok stared down at the shattered remains of the staff, breathing hard, lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. He stretched out his hand, and one piece shot towards him. With a loud slap it struck his palm and he clutched it, pain tingling across the now bruised skin.

Nok nodded, and reached out with his hand. He closed his fingers on air, as if gripping the staff. He imagined the web his master spoke of, the black, the Force stretching out around him and through him. He pictured it as lines, infinitely thin yet strong, wrapping around the staff, Darth Akheron, the ship, and spreading out into space to the billions of worlds of the galaxy. In his mind, he reached for the web and plucked at it. And felt nothing. Nok grimaced, and carefully constructed the image again from scratch, his hand stupidly clutching the air like street performer. This time he imagined a network of lines, shifting and breathing like a living thing. And again nothing. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fist and fed his frustration. He could feel the Force, it was there! It swelled and shifted as his emotions churned it, making him think of an ocean beneath his feet. Yet when he tried to grasp it, it moved like oil through his hands. Nok could float, but he couldn't swim. The dark side is about passion. Intention. Action. Nok reached out and directed his curdling fury at the staff itself, trying to hate it and immediately feeling foolish for hating a piece of wood. He gritted his teeth until it hurt, but the pain only swirled the currents and threads of the Force more. He knew he should be able to grasp the Force, push it and pull it with his mind, but his "hands" couldn't seem to find the weave. With nothing else to try, Nok constructed another mental image, this time paying careful attention to his own position within the web. He recalled an arachnor he'd once seen at a competitors food development company. The massive 2 meter high spiders had fed on fungi as a part of their diet, and Nok's fellow neimoidian entrepreneur had brought in several of the creatures along with their preferred fungus to see if he could cultivate the fungus into a new snack for Neimoidia. Apparantly the spiders and the fungi had shared a symbiotic relationship and were necessary for cultivation. Nok grinned at the memory, along with the memory of sneaking back in to let the creatures out of their cages. That had been one of his earliest acts of sabotage, and probably his clumsiest, but damn had it been entertaining. The arachnors as he recalled wove huge, intricate webs coated in some the stickiest fluid imaginable. Nok had considered engineering a synthetic version for commerical use, but had forgotten about it among other projects. He should look back into that. But the image that had stayed with him was the spider moving across it's web. Never entangling itself, its body unfolded and pulled itself along leisurely. The instant something touched the web (like one of the panicked lab techs who'd made a wrong turn) the spider froze, before slowly turning and moving towards the disturbance in its domain. Graceful beyond anything Nok could hope to achieve, the arachnor would wrap its food in more of the web, its deliberate pace contrasting with the frantic struggle. Taking the mental image of the spider's body and placing his own mind within it, Nok tentatively reached for the strands of the Force. Yet still, nothing. Nok tamped down his exasperation, and again thought of the arachnor. It hadn't hesitated, hadn't felt at its web like a child crawling on the ground. It had taken its web and simply moved it, like a part of itself. Nok reached again for the Force, but this time he did not hesitate or look for a sensation. He expected the Force to be there just as he expected the ground under his feet every time he stepped. Something brushed his mind, quivering. Nok's eyes flew open. Indescribable. He had sensed the Force before, but now he had touched it. Like touching time, or embracing a planet, it couldn't be adequately described. But he had done it! He didn't look at the staff. His crude eyes wouldn't serve him here. He instead stared into space and again reached for the Force, believing that it would be there. And again, it was. Shivering and dancing across his will like a feather on his palm, he couldn't grip it without losing it. Instead, he bled his frustration and sudden pride into it, rather than letting it directionlessly swirl around him. Across from him, the staff jerked. Not enough to come to Nok. But it moved.

Nok heard his master's words, closed his eyes, and concentrated. What had he felt before Darth Akheron had struck him down? Nothing much. The sith had moved so fast he'd not really comprehended what had happened. What had he felt after though? Rage, frustration, nausea. And need, that need he'd used to clear his mind and stand up again. Nok let it fill him again. He wanted that connection to everything. But that wasn't what his master asked him to do. Nok squashed the emotion, driving it out, and focusing again on his master's words. what you might do to those who oppose you Nok thought back to his competitors. He certainly had enough of them. The lesser ones, the hounds snapping at his heels, had been killed or driven off by Nok's single-minded campaign. As he thought of them he felt...disgust. Conniving desk monkeys, entitled brats who'd schemed their way to power and hid under the shoes of others stronger than them. Spitting and laughing behind droids and bodyguards, playing dress-up in palaces they couldn't afford. They'd looked down on Nok, and when it became clear he might be a threat they'd conspired against him at every opportunity. Tossing legal claims into his path, or poaching his best underlings, or even publicly lambasting him out of spite. Nok had shrugged off each threat, but they kept coming, like a swarm of buzzing, tedious insects. Eventually, Nok chose to cut through the distraction and hindrances...with a knife. As competitor after competitor disappeared, others backed off, or became so engrossed in cramming down the scraps Nok's hitmen left in their wake that they hardly paid attention to the young businessman. What had Nok felt before he decided to end those distractions? Irritation? No, he'd been irritated, but that day he'd finally crossed the line. Disdain? Closer, but not quite. Hatred. Yes. He'd hated those slugs. Nok thought to all those he hated. A dozen different faces came to mind immediately. The CEO of Offworld. The lawyer from Coruscant putting together that class-action lawsuit against Nok's branch company Chem Corp. The ithorian activist driving out Nok's agricultural interests on Dantooine. Irritations by themselves, but they took time to deal with, and Nok's growing empire was forced to swat them away again and again. He hated them, he knew that. He let go of his composure, let the hatred flow through him. He imagined butchering each one, imagined them scrambling away while they tried to ply him with the precious words they spread about like a hutt's slime. He vividly pictured each one bleeding out on the floor of his palace, red spreading over the tile as each one was finally...finally silenced. The hatred and the joy balled up in his chest, a sun under his skin. It burned and it warmed, and Nok breathed in and out, fanning the fire. He opened his eyes and looked at his master. His master still stood before him, but... "You're different. You radiate. The air warps around you, and I feel pressure coming off you. I feel hot and cold, and alive."

THWACK Nok opened his eyes to the mat floor of his gym. Blood coated his tongue and teeth like slime, and his head felt as if someone had inflated it and stuffed it with cotton. So fast. His eyes had barely registered a blur before he'd found himself on the ground. He couldn't recall falling... Sputtering, he struggled to pull himself to his hands and knees. His limbs betrayed him and slipped away, plunging his face back into the mat, the taste of sweat and dirt mixing with the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. The gym swam, tilting and spinning like a room in freefall, and Nok's stomach lurched for a nauseous moment. Emotion...focus...fuel...pain... His new master's words blurred together in his mind, leaving only impressions of the meaning behind them, though pain stood out in stark contrast as a reality he understood at the moment. Emotion... Dead in the cold and dark Fear...he felt fear. NO! No fear! Control...I must control... Rage. Yes. Rage that this vision would dare dictate my death. That it would dare deny me what I take with my own hands. That it would deny me all... Nok's mind flashed to that moment as the soldier died at his feet. That moment of eternity within. A black expanse containing the universe that declared a cold death his fate, containing Nok himself, yet contained inside him. All of creation. All of him. All his. My sovereign desolation... He needed that. He ached for that. There was his strength, his purpose, his focus. That moment of perfection. It pulled at him now even though he couldn't feel it, like a song in the fog he couldn't quite hear. Focus on nothing but that emotion he says Nok did. He banished the fear, balling it up, binding it and walling it away. Such a familiar action now. And then he let the need grow. He fueled it, pouring his rage at his own weakness into it, swelling the emotion from desire to craving. Then he bloated the craving into pure, crystallized desperation. It spread through him, every tendon and bone in his body yearning for that connection. Yearning for the Force. The Force wasn't a power, though it was powerful. It wasn't fate, though it dictated the course of galaxies. It wasn't life, though it existed inseparably within the living. It was everything. And it would be his. The cotton stuffing his head dissolved like powder beneath a flood. Nok staggered to his feet, staff held loosely in his hand. The room tilted but didn't whirl as before. The blurry form of his master came into focus. Nok looked Darth Akheron in the eye. "Alright Master..." _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Four years ago. Nok landed on his back, head slamming into the durasteel grating of the access tunnel for the old space station. He scrambled to his feet, but what had struck him had already moved off, silent as ever. "So you're just going to beat me up?! What the hell do I pay you for?!" No response. Nok slowly turned, eyes searching the shadowed corridors around him for any sign of...anything. "Mistress Rill?" Weeks earlier, when Nok had hired Masters Miwak and Rakha and Mistress Kida to act as his personal self-defense trainers, they'd softballed him and given him an intense but ultimately unoriginal series of exercises and lessons. Satisfactory, but Nok hadn't hired them for "satisfactory". He'd demanded they earn the money he was paying them by giving him a true noghri training regimen, the training that let the ferocious hunters down beasts capable of killing squadrons and earned them a reputation of fear from all who might oppose them. At first, he'd thought they'd quit on the spot. But then they'd come to him. They said they'd do as he asked, but only if he hired one more trainer. When Nok had asked why he needed another trainer when he had them to teach him grace, weapons, and martial combat, they'd simply replied that Mistress Rill was one of the best for teaching the final topic. Survival. Something struck him from behind, and Nok tumbled forward into the bulkhead, banging his skull and collapsing to the floor with a ringing in his ears. Where WAS she?! "I've barely begun my training! How am I supposed to compete with you?!" Nok clutched at his knees as he forced himself up. "You're not." Nok whirled towards the voice, but found only an empty corridor. "This ends when you ask me to end it. And when you do, I go back to Honoghr. You don't pay me. I just leave." Nok tried to follow the voice, but it seemed to come from everywhere he wasn't looking. Something like a club or foot struck the back of his knee, and Nok stumbled to all fours. "Will you give up?" Nok glared into the shadows. Dead in the cold and dark No. He wouldn't give up. Dropping himself into the combat stance he'd only learned a week before, he slowly turned in place. "Alright Mistress Rill..." _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Nok held his master's gaze. "...let's try that again."

Nok led the way through the luxury yacht, bringing his new master to the ship's gym. Originally furnished as a casino for guests, Nok had had the room renovated into his personal workout space. Weights, a shower, mats, and gleaming workout devices littered one side of the large room, while bare space for calisthenics and sparring occupied the rest. One of the ship's cleaning droids was in the process of polishing one of the devices when the pair entered. "Out," Nok ordered, the droid immediately moving to comply. He took a moment to stretch, feeling the wounds on his shoulder and back stretching and sending sharp lances of pain across his body. He grimaced, but kept his face turned away from Darth Akheron. The perception of power is power, the perception of control is control. He would not show weakness. "If you want to start with something physical, I think you'll find me a bit higher than a beginner's level. I've had training..."

The starfield melted into a blue, whirling tunnel of light and barely understood physics as The Bleeding Edge shot into hyperspace. "Sir", the pilot droid said, "course plotted for Kuat." "Keep me apprised of any changes," Nok replied. "And call up BD, have her pull the Darius Jadeo identity and start filling out the edges to match Lord Akheron." "Understood sir." "Oh, and send a new robe to my suite. Not one of the silk ones, use one of the imitations." Nok had no doubt he'd lose another robe by the end of this trip to Kuat, and he'd rather not have to hunt down another hard-to-replace silken traditional robe of his homeworld. As he left the bridge, his fingers absentmindedly ran along the edges of the bacta-patches on his shoulder, a twin to the one on his back. They tingled as the biochemicals did their work, but the pain still throbbed. Yet...he didn't hate it. It was galvanizing. He turned to Lord Akheron. "Where to now master? I have several suites here, stocked with the proper refreshments and foods to satisfy most civilized species if you'd prefer to talk or rest. Or I have a small gym if you'd prefer something less ornate."

The soldier collapsed to the ground, red spilling from his chest and into the snow. He looked...surprised. Not scared, or angry, or defiant. Just surprised. Nok had taken his life from him, ended the thousands of possibilities of what the man might have done, might have been. Nok had killed before, but it had always been planned in advance. He'd always had time to consider the fallout, to list who would be affected, who might want revenge, and who might take advantage. This killing was...sudden. In a way he'd never felt before, the universe shifted beneath him just a little. He'd lived, and the soldier died, and an infinite array of endings and beginnings had coalesced into one because of that. Nok could sense everything. He was everything. The grass. The snow. The corpse. The sword in his hand and knives in their sheaths. He was a part of something that was a part of everything, and everything was a part of him. It all moved, and breathed, and churned in an endless expanse of black. An eternity within himself. And he could control it. Nok smiled. Credits, power, lives...they all were pieces of this greater whole. And he could take it all. Nok closed his eyes and raised his face to the sky. Ashes from the pillar of smoke landed on his face, and blew away in the soft breeze. Nok's reverie was broken as Darth Akheron spoke. The connection he felt vanished, but the roiling power didn't. It settled, but it did not quiet. My master, he realized. "Pain...gives me focus," he said, repeating Darth Akheron while his brain struggled to find footing. "Yes...I can feel it. It's like the pain is...I can't describe it. Wind churning the sea inside of me. A storm." Nok shook his head, dispelling the last of the heady fumes from his mind. "Kuat...right, yes." Nok's mind raced as it snapped back to reality. "Yes...I do have contacts there. Invasion? That will affect...hmm..." Nok snapped his fingers, as a dozen different pieces lined up in his head. "We can take my ship. I've got permits to land on Kuat, and enough friends to ensure our time with customs is expedited. And as for your identity..." Nok considered. Darth Akheron would likely have a file in the Remnant database, as would any Sith. But maybe... "I have an identity I think you can borrow. Darius Jadeo, investor and financer of Free Stars Reporting and a couple other small ventures. Never seen in public, mostly just a name of some forms and bank accounts. I can have my people put together the rest of the identity on the way there. Darius should be just rich enough to not seem out of place on a ship like mine, but not so rich as to draw attention. Yes...I think this will work." Nok looked up at Darth Akheron. His master. He bowed. "My master...if you will follow me."

Nok froze as the sounds of a body crashing through the grass and snow shattered the silence. Hesitating only for a second, he raised himself up to his knees. There, moving through the grass, the soldier's back. As if sensing his gaze, the form partially hidden in the grass stopped. Nok began to creep forward, but he'd only moved one crawling step before the figure took off again, faster this time. Slowly, quietly, Nok drew out his hold-out blaster and raised it. The soldier stopped, turned, and his eyes met Nok's. He raised his own blaster, an oversized BlasTech piece. Oh kriff The loud report of blaster fire rang through the air, but Nok wasn't looking at the shots. His legs pumped as he scrambled to the side, deep poks and sizzling snow sounding from where he'd just been. POK. POK. POK. The shots were calm, rhythmic, like a machine's tick. A professional's shots. Nok slid through the wet, cold snow and grass and hoped the soldier had lost track of him in the bru- Something spun Nok around, flinging him onto his back. A red-hot stone had been buried in his shoulder, burrowing its way to the bone. Nok gritted his teeth, no thought beyond resisting the urge to scream. The overwhelming, demanding, insistent NEED to scream. After a few moments or hours, Nok turned and looked at his shoulder. Where his noghri leathers should have been was a streak of blackened flesh. Not a direct hit then, just a graze. Ow... Nok breathed as shallow as he could while he waited for the pain to subside. He couldn't hear the soldier moving, and thank any god that existed he wasn't firing. Not that it mattered. There was no way Nok was going to sneak up on his with his back and shoulder as messed up as they were. And charging the soldier would be a fast way die but not much else. He scoured his brain for an idea, an edge, but he had nothing. He couldn't win in a blaster shoot-out, not with his little hold-out blaster against a trained commando. He couldn't get in close. He couldn't even call for help or run away or he'd just be shot again. Or he'd run right into one of the soldier's traps. Why did he stop? Nok blinked. The soldier had stopped, mid-run, crouching in the grass for a moment before moving again. At first, Nok had thought the soldier had heard him, but there was no way, and if he had why not shoot him then? He set another trap. He couldn't describe his certainty. It was like...the current of water that brushed against skin as something swam past him. A reflection in shattered glass. A deep hum, like some beast taking a minutes long breath. He had no clear picture, but he knew. The Force? Or trauma induced hallucination? Deep breath. In. Out. Nok stood up, raising the hold-out blaster. Across the snowy field he saw the soldier, and their eyes met again. The soldier raised his own blaster as Nok aimed. But he didn't aim at the soldier. He grinned as he pointed the pistol at the rocky patch of ground between them. Nok fired. A stone skittered across the spot, and for a moment nothing happened. The soldier froze, a look of realization and horror on his face. BOOM Nok stumbled backwards as the shockwave and wall of heat pushed past him. Snow shot up into plumes of steam, and the patch of rock and grass ahead of him disappeared in a flash and column of smoke. Reaching behind him, Nok's fingers found the switch for the vibrosword his soon-to-be master had lent him. He flicked it on, and let the ultra-sharp blade cut through the makeshift sheath, the expensive silks dissolving under the edge like the melted snow. Twisting his lips into a defiant sneer, Nok sprinted around the black pillar of ash. The silhouette of the soldier came into view. Four years ago. Nok spat blood as he rolled to his side. Above him, the noghri grinned mockingly, knuckles red. "At some point, this stops being a lesson and just becomes sick fun for you." Nok's words slurred through his swollen jaw. "Doesn't stop being a lesson until you kriffing learn it, right?" The noghri, Master Rakha wiped his hands on Nok's training clothes, leaving red streaks on the white fabric. "You're tall, so until you learn to stop getting in close to shorter guys when you swing, I'm going to keep massaging your jaw. Now get up. I want try something." Nok was barely on his feet when Master Rakha slapped a long wooden stick into his hand. He had to resist the urge to rub his tingling palm in front of his instructor. "I thought I said no swords." "I know, I know. But seriously, with your height you'd have one hell of a reach." "I can't exactly bring a sword with me into board room. Waste of time, and not what I'm paying you for." "Humor me all right. Just do it once and maybe next time I'll hit the other side of your face." "...Fine." "Good. Now take the stance, draw back, and..." Nok lunged, the humming tip of the sword sending spirals patterns through the roiling smoke. It wasn't a good lunge, Nok had never picked up the art of swordplay. But it was straight, and pointed right at the man's neck.

Nok froze as blaster fire cut through the chill air. Nowhere near him, but Nok heard no telltale sounds of someone scrambling for cover either. Deliberate then. To either draw him out or draw him in. Nok held still, heart thundering and spine held rigid enough to hurt as his mind treated him to a holovid of a burly commando spotting Nok prone in the grass and putting a blaster bolt through his skull. Night was going to fall soon, and the frigid air would turn icy in the blackness. Dead in the cold and dark. No. Not today, not here. Nok had not done all he had done to earn an ignominious death in some field against a faceless soldier of an already dead army. This sniper was fighting a last stand in a battle lost. He was likely trained for this kind of fight, and the fact that he'd survived this long against the odds indicated he'd taken that training to heart. Nok had self defense training, and though the noghri considered stealth a key point in self defense, he was no commando. The sniper was better armed, better trained, and was fighting defense, making the terrain his armor and weapon. No gambler would put money on Nok, a businessman more at home stealing the sniper's veteran pay than slitting his throat. Nok smiled. He'd bucked odds before. And if today was the day he'd die, it wouldn't be in the dark. He'd have this soldier's head before sunset. Nok loped on all fours through the grass, snow crunching under his hands and feet, fingers wet and wrinkled from fresh melt. He changed his pattern, now spiraling in towards the point of gunfire, attention focused like a laser scope as he listened for- TWANG Something flashed to Nok's left, whooshing through the air before a THWOCK drove him to the ground on his belly. A dull ache spiderwebbed out from a spot on his back, just under his left shoulder blade. Nok reflexively pulled himself away, only for something to hold him in place, like a leash drawn to it's full length. Twisting his head around, Nok gritted his teeth at what he saw. A combat knife, and a good one, lashed to a long branch that trailed off into the brush and to some hidden anchor. With the combat knife buried in his back, the homemade trap held Nok fast. The sniper had set up traps. Judging from this one, he knew guerilla warfare. The branch had been bent back and hidden in the grass, a tripline set to release the trap and skewer whatever unfortunate soul walked this way. Had Nok been standing, the trap would have hit him like a bullet. As it was, the knife had only halfway buried itself in Nok's flesh, his combat leathers doubtlessly slowing it. Even so, the full ache he felt now was only a precursor to the pain to come. Now Nok had no choice. With no bacta patches or even bandages, the hunt would only get harder the longer it took. He had to catch this kriffer soon. First, the knife. Nok drew one of his own vibroknives, and allowed himself a brief smile as he saw Master Miwak's sigil on the hilt. With a flick of a switch he powered it on, the blade humming, barely audible. Reversing his grip, he drew it along until the vibrating blade met the branch, then parted the wood like slow-cooked grubs under a knife. The severed branch trap fell to his side. Alright, easy part over. Nok drew out his hold-out blaster, turning off his vibroknife and using the tip to pry off the casing just behind the barrel. Underneath, the connection between the powerpack and emitter looked crude and ugly compared to the sleek aesthetic of the outer cover. Hold-out blasters often found themselves in the hands of the affluent or those who fancied themselves blaster enthusiasts. The one thing both groups had in common was a need to "customize". A quick search on the Holonet would bring up countless results on how to illegally adjust the weapon's power settings. What these self-proclaimed "blaster hackerz" didn't often mention was that hold-out blasters weren't built to handle the charges insecure office workers looking for thrills liked to pump out of them. If they were lucky, the blaster burnt out. If they were unlucky, they got a bigger blast than they hoped for, and a few burn scars to lie about on single's night. On the other hand, if you wanted to decrease the bolt power... Three years ago "Ow! Stop hitting me!" Mistress Kida ignored Nok and hit him on the forehead again with the butt of the hold-out blaster. Nok knelt before the weapon's expert of his trainers, the only way the diminutive noghri woman could reach Nok's head to beat it. "You let the barrel corrode! Another fifty shots and you'd be down to 6 shots per power pack!" "I dont know if you noticed, but I've had meetings with a hutt to keep me busy. That tends to occupy my attention. And it's not like I let it break, and I can always buy-" With a shriek, Mistress Kida leapt onto Nok's head and scrambled across his back, punching and kicking. Nok imagined an avalanche of stones pounding into him as his teacher drove him to the floor. "What's lesson one!?" Kida screamed as she lifted Nok off the floor by his collar. "My weapons...are my life," he gasped out. Nok couldn't help grinning at the memory as he finished adjusting the blaster's power to the lowest possible setting. That lesson had saved his life more than once. Now for the fun part. Not giving himself time to think, he reached up, grasped the hilt of the knife buried in his back, and pulled it out. His eyes blurred as hot tears ran down his face and hot blood pooled on his back. He pulled the combat knife to his face and bit down on the worn leather handle. Then, feeling around and pressing the depowered blaster barrel against the wound in his back, he fired. ___ Nok opened his eyes. How long had he blacked out for? Judging by the sky, not long. A few seconds? A few minutes? The fact that he wasn't lying in a puddle of his own blood, combined with the throbbing knot of sizzling pain in his back, told him he'd cauterized the wound. "Thank you Mistress Kida." Nok drove the pain from his mind. A distraction. He sheathed his vibroknife, adjusted his hold-out blaster back to normal power and holstered it, and after a moment's thought he pocketed the still bloody combat knife. He started moving again, slower, the network of fiery lines in his back protesting every move. Changing direction, Nok headed straight for the last point he'd heard the sniper fire from. Either he was still there or he'd moved off...and whatever path he took would be trap free...hopefully.

As Lord Akheron left, Nok wondered if he'd made a mistake. Maybe he should have let his dreams be dreams. He had a corporate empire most of his fellows would kill their own children for, enough money to earn a hutt's respect, and an endless supply of life's pleasures to amuse him till the day he died. What was he doing here, butchering like a merc for some self-styled lord, Sith or not? Why was he proving himself when he had torn his fellows down and stood on their heads to reach the wealth of worlds? The Force was powerful, but so was money, authority, and image. Why was he here? Dead in the cold and dark Nok's lip twisted. What was he thinking? "You can hear me," he said aloud, a simple statement, as if talking across a table at a restaraunt to a colleague. "I don't know you. You don't know me. I don't know how you got here, what led you down this path. You don't know what's driven me, how I've become the man I am. You ask me what makes me worth your time, worth the time of any Sith. I don't know if I am. You ask me how I know that I have what it takes to walk this path. I don't know if I do." Nok shook his head ruefully. "But you ask me to make a choice. A choice between taking power, no matter the risk, or going back and hiding in my world of silks and credits." Nok spat in the dirt. "If you're to be my master, then I expect you to break me. I expect you to shatter me and force me to put myself back together piece by bloody piece. I expect you to make me wish I was dead, and then deny me. I expect Hell and for you to be the laughing devil pushing me in. But...don't insult me. A choice between power and risk or safety and weakness? That's no choice. Those who choose power are the ones who deserve it, and anyone who chooses weakness could never be anything else. I have lived my life taking what I want from the weak, and cutting down the strong who stand in my way, and today is no exception. You see, Lord Akheron, I'm not complicated. In fact in many ways I'm quite typical. I'm an avaricious man. I want everything." Nok reached up to his shoulder and undid a hidden clasp on his robe. With a whoosh, he shucked off the heavy, silken red robe and left it crumpled in the dust. Beneath, he wore traditional noghri leathers, tailored to his size. His four vibroknives gleamed, now visible in his wrist sheaths. His hold-out blaster, the polished metal reflecting the setting sun, sat nestled in his hip holster. Nok held up the vibrosword for inspection. Fine piece. Not my style but it'll do. He reached up, plucked off his black cloth headdress and tossed it into the rumpled heap of his robe. After a moment's thought, he cut a strip from his discarded robe and tied the sword to his back in a makeshift sheath. Then with a grace beat into him by his trainers, he dropped to all fours and crawled into the tall grass. People always underestimated neimoidians. They saw the robes, the elaborate headgear, the droids, and once they heard the average neimoidian's sniveling voice their minds were made up. They saw money-grubbing, backstabbing, two-tongued scum suckers. Dangerous in a boardroom maybe, but not creatures of any substance. So they didn't think to learn the other tidbits. Like how neimoidians grew up on a planet with greater gravity than most human-settled worlds. Or how the dim sun and perpetual fog had driven the neimoidians to evolve keen eyes. Four years ago... "No! I heard you breathing!" Nok rubbed his head as he stared up at the diminutive noghri. Master Miwak, as he demanded he be called, held his simple quarterstaff out threateningly, implying he would love nothing more than to knock his student around again. "How am I supposed to keep you from hearing me if you can hear my breath!?" Nok demanded. Miwak struck Nok again. "Either stop breathing, or don't give me the chance to hear it." Speed. Speed and silence. At his height, there was no way this soldier wouldn't hear his long limbs rustling the grass. But if Nok moved quickly, the soldier would never know exactly where he was. And that would make him nervous. Nervous prey did stupid things. Crawling on all fours, Nok fell into the fluid motions he'd perfected under the eyes of Master Miwak. His arms and legs sliding along the ground, his body moving with the smoothness of a speeder, he stalked through the grass. In his mind's eye, he saw himself move through the terrain, tracking a grid pattern that systematically swept the plain. No matter the hours it took, the rifleman couldn't hide forever. And Nok listened. Listened for that shift in position, for the click of a rifle being raised to a shoulder, for the deep breath and exhale before a shot...

Nok turned to see a warrior. He could not think of any other way to describe him. His stature, his posture, his armor, the twin vibroswords on his back... The finer details of any of those would have exposed the man's true character, but what grabbed Nok's attention was nothing so obvious. No, it was the man's confidence. Not even confidence, but a sort of ease by which he saw the world. Nok couldn't explain exactly what it was, but he had felt this before. He'd felt it from his trainers, noghri hunters who'd killed for sport. He'd felt it from a few select mercenaries he'd hired over the years, soldiers of fortune who knew the quality of their own work without misplaced arrogance or pretense. He'd felt it from the howlrunner whose skull now sat in his ship as his most prized trophy. This man killed, and was comfortable in the knowledge of that fact. Not a murderer, not a madman. A warrior. Nok's eyes landed on the lightsaber hilt at the man's side, ornamented with sigil and bone. A Sith. Dead in the cold and dark Nok inclined his head respectfully. My apologies, I do not know the proper term of address. I am Nok Morliss, and I'm not here as a banker or businessman. He raised his head to look the Sith warrior in the eye. I am force sensitive... He made it a statement, not a claim or question. ...and I come here as a student.

As the interrogator left, Nok let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. An (unfortunately) well-known bit of trivia about neimoidians was that when they were distressed their lung pods would expand and contract convulsively, leading to the common joke that neimoidians had an entire organ dedicated to worrying. Nok had trained himself through repeated exposure to stressful situations to keep himself from that obvious sign of weakness, but he could still feel a twitch now and then when he got truly nervous. The interrogator had been thorough, and had brought up facts about Nok he'd thought long since buried, even citing his involvement in his first rival's murder. A murder Nok had never been associated with. He couldn't be sure if the interrogator had been force sensitive or not, or if the Sith simply had excellent intelligence operatives. As he considered, he conceded that he might have a standing file with the Sith Empire. Given his business practices, he'd likely run afoul of at least one sith official at some point, though perhaps not directly. Oddly enough, and perhaps promisingly, Nok's illegal and questionable activities had not earned him expulsion. Indeed, the interrogator had actually seemed interested in one particular act of sabotage from Nok's early career that he was rather proud of. He'd been forced to hide in a duct for two days while waiting for a shipment to return, sprinkle a tiny fragment of kessel spice onto the pilot's coat, and then wait another day for his own ship to arrive. The pilot had been caught and searched for spice, along with the ship, delaying the critical shipment and allowing one of Nok's own small shipping companies to snipe the shipment and the lucrative contract that came with it. The interrogator had grilled him on how he'd planned it, and as the conversation wore on Nok suspected the man was asking for his own interest and not for any report. In the end, the interrogator had given him a provisional pass, explaining that the pass would allow him access to the city, but that he would be watched carefully given his record. He also warned that any infraction on Sith ground would likely result in heavy "penalties". Nok didn't know if he'd simply lucked out with an interrogator who ignored his criminal past or if the Sith simply relied on their own harsh reputation to keep the criminals drawn to their empire in line. He suspected both. Nok wandered the city, keeping his security droids aboard the ship. The interrogator had been quite firm in that regard. No security hardware of military grade was allowed to holders of provisional passes. Nok had considered arguing the point, since a troop of bodyguards would have done the same thing and not violated the requirement, but decided against it. The interrogator had directed him to the Hall of the Mynock, and impressive structure where he might find a Sith Lord or Master. He warned Nok that due process did not restrain such figures. The implication was clear. If they wanted Nok dead, no one would help him. As he walked through the streets, he noted the trains of prisoners being led through the crowds. His lip curled. Nok had always had a knack for reading people, something he suspected his talent with the force had given him an edge in. A few of the prisoners had the look of caged beasts, quiet for now but simply waiting for an opportunity to snap at their captor. But the rest simply looked defeated. Broken and done. And that was their choice. They let themselves be cowed, let their pride die. People like that didn't own their own lives no matter what they might say or think. They were fodder for others, and that was as it should be, an obvious truth. As disgusted as he was by his own species' cowardice, he had to agree with them on that point. Those who could take deserved what they had. He approached the temple, finally noting it's grand architecture. A good sign, he thought. He'd read histories about the Sith, how they'd hidden themselves away for so long, quiet but undefeated. While he agreed wholeheartedly, the grandiose ostentations of the current Sith appealed to him. The display of power was a power itself, one of perception, and far more sweeping and insidious than any weapon or magic. Nok took the exhibition to heart, and approached the temple sedately, letting his robes glide along the road while portraying a picture of dignity and pride.

As the message cut out, Nok shivered. Was it relief? Fear? Or a premonition? Raise temperature by 3 degrees, and follow uploaded course to the indicated coordinates "Roger roger" came the pilot's tinny voice over the intercom. The air warmed again, and Nok relaxed. This was a new experience for him. As the ship wove its way through the debris and mines, he reflected on how little control he truly had right now. If the sith decided he was a threat, or just annoying or inconvenient, they'd kill him and he wouldn't even be a footnote in their day. His body would be left floating in the void beside the hundreds of corpses of those who had sought to challenge the Sith Dead in the cold and dark Increase temperature by 3 degrees A hot blast of air washed through the room, the chamber now bordering on sweltering. Nok relaxed, the tension leaving him. He had been in situations like this before, and his intelligence, confidence, and pride had always seen him through. There were things he could still control. If this investment, this gamble, paid off then there would be nothing in this universe that would deny him. ___ The Bleeding Edge landed gently in harbor A3789, the luxury yacht's advanced shocks absorbing even the smallest jostle to ensure any passengers remained undisturbed. "Sir," the pilot droid's voice came over the comm, "they are requesting we remain aboard until a full sweep can be performed." Cooperate fully, and direct any who wish to speak with me to the suite. Outside his room, Nok heard the muffled thuds of trooper boots and the quiet whine of heavy equipment powering on. Alongside were the muted clangs of his security droids shifting, no doubt to make room for the troopers as per his orders. He smiled to himself as he poured another glass of corellian whiskey. They'd no doubt find some interesting things aboard. Nok had always had an eye for the unusual and valuable. His favorite possession on the ship though wasn't any of the works of art or historical artifacts or exotic trophies he'd collected. He looked to the end table, tucked into the corner and shadowed by the room's soft lights. Sitting on the table, almost negligently, was a skull. Anyone who'd seen the creatures would recognize it as the skull of a howlrunner of Kamar. The skull looked almost human, but with oversized fangs perfect for tearing chunks of flesh from whoever found themselves on the receiving end. Nok's noghri trainers has used two of the creatures as a final test of his self-defense training. And extreme training method but for the amount Nok had paid them he would have accepted nothing less. Armed only with his vibroknives, he'd been forced to contend with two of the beasts in a pit, after the noghri had starved them for two days. Absent-mindedly, his fingers traced the scars on his chest, hidden by his robe. He'd not come away unscathed. He'd slain the most aggressive one with some impressive knife work he'd never been able to duplicate outside of real combat. The other had backed down when Nok cowed it by showing it the severed head of its companion. Nok kept the skull of the one he'd killed as a reminder to never let himself back down. He might hide, or lie, or withdraw, but he'd never give up. The howlrunner who'd backed away without fighting...Nok had him prepared for dinner that same night. Another lesson to remember. Nok considered his glass of corellian whiskey, then walked over to the disposal and dumped it out. Reaching into the suite's cooler, he pulled out a bottle of fine coruscanti wine, the kind the affluent kept on shelves to show off, and poured two glasses. He sat back down, positioning one glass across from him while he sipped the other. The smooth, cool fluid flowed over his tongue and tingled as it trickled down his throat, a perfect contrast to the near stifling air.